Morte Et Dabo
by Asfaloth-Sekhmet
Summary: As the last remaining Heir to the Selwyn fortune, an affluence built on bloodshed and destruction, Ophelia will continue to endure unimaginable terrors throughout her life. The young Occlumens must navigate these treacherous waters as she's learned to survive thus far; alone.
1. pulvis et umbra sumus

**pulvis et umbra sumus**

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Harry Potter or it's associated characters. I only own Ophelia and her mother.

She wasn't certain of many things in her brief existence, but Ophelia was certain that her time in this world was drawing to a close.

The only child of Cyrus Selwyn, previous chairman of the board for Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, had known of her family's nefarious history since she was little. Her last surviving family member was talented at keeping secrets, but the rebirth of the Dark Lord could be hidden from no one. Evil was no longer a distant threat in the past. It was staring Ophelia straight in the face, inside her head and soon to be filling up any leftover cavities.

No one ever stopped being a Death Eater. In addition to this, it was a well-known fact that several particularly devoted families within Voldemort's inner circle had their children recruited as well. Her time was coming, and she could feel it. Out of the all of the horrors Ophelia had faced in her life, none could compare to the corruption she was about to encounter. Her mother's suicide, the death of her last remaining family members, her father's abuse; all of it seemed splendidly simple to deal with when compared to the Dark Lord.

She had been trained well to keep her mouth shut and remain obedient, and she supposed she had her father to thank for that. Rules and guidelines had always been replaced by orders in the Selwyn home. Ignorant comments and empty questions were not taken well no matter how small they were, and so Ophelia said nothing of the palpable tension on the warm June evening as she finished dining with her father.

"What was your final mark for History of Magic?" Her father's baritone echoed against the walls of the dining hall, causing Ophelia's eyes to meet his through dark lashes.

"'Exceeding Expectations'." She reported, not expecting praise and not receiving any.

O.W.L's had recently been written at Hogwarts, marking the end of her fifth year. Her father had originally insisted upon her boarding at Beauxbaton's Academy for Young Witches when she'd begun her education, but after hearing that Severus Snape was to be teaching at Hogwarts his mind had quickly changed. Ophelia had her suspicions as to exactly why.

"And the others?" Cyrus raised a brow and demanded more. There was always a very obvious silent implication that stupidity and laziness would not be tolerated.

"Another 'exceeding expectations' and three 'outstandings'." Ophelia bit back, taking another sip of her pea soup.

The grandfather clock sitting on one side of the large room let out a large bong, indicating the end of another hour. Ophelia hoped to one day destroy the dreaded thing. She felt like it was mocking her, slowly chiming each hour as if marching her to her own death. The house was a black hole, despite it being constructed entirely out of white marble.

Her father said nothing in response to her grades, and so she waited. It was generally not welcome for her to start a conversation, and she didn't dare comment on his worn-out appearance nor the fact that his muscular frame had turned rather sinewy since her last visit. She did not come home for any other holidays other than Christmas or Summer, preferring to seek refuge within the walls of the Scotland fortress in which she studied.

"Narcissa and Draco are due to visit in a fortnight," Cyrus eyed his daughter cautiously, watching for any reaction. "My attendance here will be infrequent over your holidays, and we may have other…unexpected visitors."

Ophelia gave a curt nod of her head and kept her face blank, "Yes sir."

Dinner ended early, and she retreated to the library, gears turning in her head. Lucius Malfoy had recently been sentenced to life in Azkaban after irrefutable evidence pointed to his status as a Death Eater. A battle within the Department of Mysteries had confirmed Voldemort's return and led to the capture of several of his followers, one of which being the infamous blonde aristocrat. From what Ophelia had concluded, the Malfoys were quite shaken by the harsh sentencing served at Lucius' trial weeks later. She had not seen Draco since the train ride home from Hogwarts, the only memory that she could conjure being when she'd seen Narcissa pick Draco up from the platform. Ophelia had slid into the limousine that had arrived to collect her and all but forgotten about it. Their families had always been somewhat close, having much in common including the shared title of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Perhaps Narcissa would ask Cyrus for advice, but there was no way to know until she arrived in two weeks time. Resolving to forget about it until it was of immediate concern, Ophelia scanned the bookshelves in search of a very specific title.

Since her departure from Hogwarts, she had been fascinated with the subject of Occlumency and had devoted all spare time towards researching it. Protecting herself against any types of attacks was a skill Ophelia valued very highly, and after opening up a book found on the fifth shelf she dully recognized the irony in that. She would need these skills in the time to come. In some ways she had always practiced shielding her mind from a variety of things, especially when it came to the abuse suffered at the hands of her father and the malevolence he spread like a plague. Perhaps this was the reason she had been so successful in her attempts to learn the ancient art.

Cyrus' violent nature extended past his daughter, and while she wasn't sure, Ophelia held the belief that her mother's suicide had a lot to do with her father's vile ways and the family's grisly history. Her ancestors had gotten their way with pure carnage and terrorism, acquiring vast wealth that caught the eye of some of the most powerful wizards to have ever existed. The Selwyns had been a family proud to serve the Dark Lord in his prime. She knew that her own father had been responsible for an amassment of deaths in the past, and the family had gone through so many house elves due to his deadly outbursts that Ophelia was somewhat thankful he served as chairman of one of the boards in the Ministry. With his capability of pulling strings and his sinister threats, he was never convicted of any of the charges that had been lain upon him – including the assassination of his own parents.

Her mother's death was different. Although many other pureblood families reckoned that he had finally snapped on his own wife, Cyrus hadn't lain a hand on Antoinette.

Pushing the memories out of her mind, Ophelia focused on the words before her and quickly became consumed with the advanced literature. She could only practice defenses independently as she was not permitted to have visitors at any time, and counting on her father to assist her with her studies was not realistic. She did not know whether this was because he trusted her to take care of herself or if he truly did not care for her well being, although the latter was more likely.

Ophelia took a deep breath and shut her eyes, sliding onto the comfortable leather couch in the centre of the library and taking the opportunity to focus on wiping her mind of all thoughts and emotions. She had been practicing this basic step since she had returned from the castle and had found it rather simple. However, improvement was necessary if the Dark Lord was to become intertwined in her life in the foreseeable future. She had little interest in exploring Legilimency as she was rarely ever the attacker, forcing her to settle on developing the Occlumens skills alone for the time being. More advanced forms of the art also involved suppressing the mental matter that the attacker was seeking out, so if she truly wanted to protect herself, she needed to excel quickly.

Time slipped from her grasp as she dropped all thoughts from her head and began to breathe deeply through her nose, listening to nothing but the pattering of the rain on the window and the soft clicking of her silver watch. She tried to picture what she thought a vast, empty time pocket would look like, mimicking the same blank sensation with as little fear and anxiety as she could.

Her short progress was interrupted by a quiet clicking at the door, and upon turning to investigate Ophelia huffed at the sight of Lando, her speckled black owl.

"My poor Lando," She complained as she opened the window to allow the soaked bird in, plucking the letter from its beak in the meanwhile. "Why on earth does Daphne choose the rainiest days to reply?"

Lando hooted lowly, chirping and bumping her hand with his round head. Ophelia smiled and fished a biscuit out of one of the expensive glassware sets sitting near her, giving it to the bird who cooed in thanks.

She opened the mail and skimmed the short letter, allowing a smirk to pull at the right side of her cheek when she read that her classmate's mother had gone bonkers upon discovering that Daphne had nearly failed Potions. While she wasn't particularly close with the girl, Daphne was more tolerable and not nearly as air-headed as the other Slytherin girls. For the time being she was a safe acquaintance, but Ophelia never made the mistake of putting her full trust in anyone.

It was quiet in the large manor during the summer, as Cyrus rarely allowed his daughter to step outside and they had little to no visits from others. She was stuck in the enormous home to her own devices, but she'd grown used to it.

Ophelia quickly replied to the other girl, letting her know not much had changed in her manor and that all was well. She added in a few more questions about the Greengrass family, wishing them all good health. Lando chirped fretfully as he looked between his owner and the pouring ran outside, clearly not thrilled about the prospect of delivering another letter in such conditions.

"What? Send you out into a storm?" Ophelia reassured and leaned down to allow Lando to hop on her shoulder, taking him out of the library. "Are you daft? I'm not Daphne bloody Greengrass."

She made sure to avoid the East Wing where her father mainly resided. In what seemed like a gigantic exaggeration, at least in her opinion, she held the entire West Wing to herself. The owlery stood at the end of said wing, it being the only obscenely tall structure in the manor. It offered refuge to several owls and many other creatures, though Ophelia stayed tight-lipped about them as she was certain her father would not approve. The secretive aspects of her home that she had grown familiar with over the years provided her with some sense of stimulation and warmth. She figured it was likely one of the only things keeping her from going absolutely mad.

Lando hooted happily as he soon as he was free to fly, soaring gracefully to the highest perch available alongside several other owls. With the knowledge that he would not be lonely Ophelia left the bird on his own.

She retreated to one of the other smaller libraries in her wing, picking out several books on the History of the World and any Occlumency-related readings she could find. Although it would have seemed quite lonely to the outside eye, she was perfectly happy curled up on the plush couch underneath a fur blanket, flying through the pages on early muggle history that influenced the magical realm. Her father couldn't stop certain information from getting through the walls of the manor, and she'd gained most of her knowledge about the 'unworthy race' from any books she could purchase or find in the house.

It was all rubbish, Ophelia thought with a sigh as she read a passage about how many wizards felt that they were supreme to non-magic folk. Judging one another in the realm of the living was easy, but in the afterlife everyone was an equal.

In some regards she wasn't truly aware of how or when she had begun to think differently about muggles. She supposed it came from her stubborn nature to accept all of the things that had been shoved down her throat as a child. Exposure to pointless killings and violence had somehow helped her understand that it was wrong to torture and kill those who didn't deserve it over prejudices. It was the same logic that was applied to bullying Hogwarts students, which she had never understood. Pureblood ideals aside, she did not want to live up to her family's standard. Still, she was careful not to reveal any of these feelings and even practiced dropping them from her mind in her Occlumency sessions. Appearance held much weight, especially in the tense times ahead.

She had discovered that pain, suffering, rage and heartbreak were easily taken care of when one's mind was blank and empty. It was with great pleasure that she had indulged in practicing the ancient art, especially if her father got particularly rough with her. Ophelia had a sense that she'd been preparing herself for this type of skill for years. Her mother's passing had resulted in a complete withdrawal from reality, barely eating and sleeping. In a zombie-like state and with half of her brain shut off, she'd found peace.

Ophelia and her mother had never been awfully close, but losing a parental figure at the tender age of eight was no easy burden to bear. Antoinette had loved her the only way she had been taught to; all she knew of her life as a pureblood French heiress was patriarchal ideals, and so she had taught Ophelia the ways in which to become a suitable companion for any pureblood suitors that came her way.

The remaining heir lost herself in her own mind again, delving as deep as she could go into her stores of memories only to clear them out seconds later. Imagining a large garbage receptacle, she took each moment she could think of and tossed it away. Emotions were particularly stubborn, but with a bit of yanking they fell to their demise. She continued to rid herself of everything she could until she was left with near emptiness. It was absolutely beautiful. The absence of consciousness and recollection soothed her as she lived in the present moment besides the relaxation of her muscles and her joy, two feelings that made it past her barrier.

Regrettably, she could not stay in her own head forever.

Slowly and steadily, she accepted the memories that had been dropped into the abyss and were waiting in the impenetrable depths of her soul to bounce back. Years and years of experiences flew by at an incomprehensible speed, as if her life was flashing before her eyes. It took several minutes for Ophelia to rid herself of the dizziness afterwards.

It was the deepest she'd ever gone. Allowing herself a small smile at the triumphant success, her hopes lifted by a mere fraction of an inch.

A series of thunderclaps distracted her and the young witch rose from her seat to examine the development of the nasty storm. A barely-used parlour with a large balcony offered her access, and she carefully opened the double doors only to find a raging downpour complete with lightning and harsh rain.

There was something wonderful about not being able to hear one's own thoughts, Ophelia acknowledged as she relished in the feeling similar to that of Occlumency. The thunderstorm made everything else absolutely obsolete, she could focus on nothing else except the June night sky. Still, the pureblood witch could not ignore the change in the air. Something was different, much darker. The thought made her shiver, and she wrapped her arms further around herself as if such a minute gesture would protect her from the oncoming grasp of evil.

A fortnight passed by quicker than Ophelia would have liked it to, but the accelerated passage of time in its unruly efforts to bring her closer to unwanted events was unfortunately regular and expected in her life.

She knew it wouldn't help her case, but she still cursed whatever entity was organizing her life for her as she fixed her light makeup in preparation for the Malfoys arrival. Her soft black curls hung in loose tresses to her mid back, nearly blending in with her knee length dress. The ebony bodycon number clung to her curves nicely, a small slit in the side and off the shoulder sleeves adding soft simple touches without overdoing the amount of skin showing.

The clock struck seven, teasing her yet again. She slipped on a pair of Louboutin suede pumps, a Christmas gift from her father last year, and exited her room. A small pair of pearl earrings, her mother's only jewelry that her father hadn't locked away, were added to her lobes as she made her way downstairs.

She had always hated descending the large looped staircase in the mansion. Something about it made her particularly nervous, perhaps because one could not see around the corner. Toying with the Selwyn family crest symbol on her bracelet and swallowing a gulp, she refused to falter in her steps as she continued down what felt like a walk into the fiery pits of hell.

She could definitely imagine continuing to live at Selwyn manor when she grew older, but not without some alterations. Footsteps echoed everywhere and the house was entirely too big for two people. The color made it stick out like a sore thumb within the pureblood community and it was rumoured to be highly regarded, but Ophelia didn't understand the fascination with it. The white marble made her feel like she lived in a mental asylum. Although, when she thought about it, this was not necessarily far from the truth.

Her father was waiting for her at the base of the stairs and gave her a harsh smack on the back of the head for her tardiness. "Seven means seven, not five after seven."

"I'm sorry, sir." Ophelia held back an angry grimace, picking at her long, manicured nails as she followed him to the foyer where a house elf had been stationed.

Besides the likely reason for Narcissa's visit, she knew that there were other probable reasons for the Malfoys to drop in. The young woman was a prime candidate for an arranged marriage, her vast wealth being a key point of interest for several bloodlines. Her father had not yet told her of any potential suitors, but that did not mean offers hadn't been made. She'd seen the papers from the Nott, Goyle and Zabini family.

Her stomach twisted even further at the thought. Arranged marriage should have been left in the century in which it was coined. In this day and age, it was repulsive that pureblood families upheld such traditional and old-fashioned norms, although it was to be expected and she could not control this. It was best to accept and do what was required to stay alive. Ophelia reckoned she was getting better at it.

Two pops could be heard faintly in the distance, announcing the arrival of the remaining Malfoy family.

Moments like this came rarely, but suddenly Ophelia was grateful for the enormous grounds surrounding her estate and the long driveway leading up to the house. The obscenely large fountain near the main entrance meant that it took visitors twice as long to travel to the front door, which was highly favorable as Ophelia loathed social gatherings with a passion.

Her father rarely entertained, and when he did it was mostly for business. There was no doubt in Ophelia's mind that after the recent advancements involving the Dark Lord and the head of the Malfoy household, this too would be considered a business meeting.

She had to admit, seeing Draco outside of school was going to be strange. They had only ever visited one another frequently when they were quite young, or when Lucius and Cyrus had business to discuss. They had never been close, but were civil and at times helpful to one another during the school year.

"Stand straight." Her father commanded. As if being held by a string, Ophelia's back corrected itself from its slightly slouched position. Cyrus then slapped her hands away from each other, the sharp smack resounding between the walls of the extravagant home. "Don't pick your nails – it's filthy and unbecoming."

Ophelia seethed in silence. The few times she had bitten back at him there had been hell to pay, and she had emerged from the encounter with many bruises, one of which always having been her ego. She would not make the mistake of crossing him again.

"The Malfoy family have arrived, master." Trotter the house elf – perhaps the longest surviving elf in the entire manor, but Ophelia couldn't be sure as she tended to avoid getting too attached to them – waved a hand and opened the door to reveal the mother and son.

"Narcissa, Draco," Her father embraced the elder pureblood witch, and went to shake hands with the younger blonde. "You are both most welcome."

Ophelia had never heard him take such an easy tone with her, and while she hated herself for admitting it, she felt a twinge of envy. However, she continued to prove that affection and approval were not necessary for growth, and it did comfort her that such tones of his were always a façade. No one would ever receive a true compassion from Cyrus; there was no genuine warmth or love inside of his soul, although this did not bring her much comfort in retrospect.

She stood behind her father until it was her turn to greet the newly arrived exchanged two dainty kisses on the cheek with Narcissa. Draco chose to give her a polite peck on the hand, and she returned an expertly crafted smile in return. As with all who faced her, he did not see through her mask.

"Ophelia my dear, you've become such a beautiful young woman," Narcissa complimented, forcing the girl in question to run her eyes over the woman's appearance. For what it was worth, Narcissa looked very well put together for someone who's husband had just been shipped off to Azkaban. "It's been almost a year since we've seen you last. Draco tells me your studies are going well."

"Yes ma'am," Ophelia responded politely, unable to stop the slight quirking of her brow at the mention of her son reporting school behavior. It should not have been a surprise that eyes were watching everywhere. "Thank you, my exams went well."

"I've missed these white walls," Narcissa murmured as the four made their way to one of the parlours, looking around at the white marble.

Ophelia thought of the few memories she had of playdates with Draco when they'd been younger and her mother had still been alive. It made sense that Narcissa missed the paleness of the Selwyn home, as Malfoy manor resembled a pitch-black morgue.

The small group settled in one of the larger parlours. Cyrus quickly turned to Ophelia only to snap his fingers as he pointed to the liquor cabinet, "Brandy."

Obeying, Ophelia summoned glasses and carefully lifted the heavy bottle out of its spot, struggling slightly as she began to section it for her father and Mrs. Malfoy. She had never been a strong girl, and with stress eating away at her appetite and little to no exercise to speak of, the young witch did not have many muscles left on her after the years. A shadow loomed over her form suddenly and the girl flinched, expecting her father's harsh criticism or rough hands to reprimand her for being so clumsy.

She was surprised to find Draco in the place of her father, gently taking the bottle of Brandy from her hands and pouring it evenly himself.

"Thank you." Her response was guarded, befuddled to see him be so careful and considerate.

He nodded once in response before he turned and dispensed the glasses to the adults in the room.

"Play us something, child." Cyrus commanded, jutting his chin out towards the grand piano in the corner of the large room.

Wordlessly, Ophelia took her seat at the bench and began to play one of the few pieces she knew by heart. Endless piano lessons due to her mother's insistence that she retain a traditional pureblood skill paid off every once in awhile, and it provided her with a moment of clarity. Chopin's Moonlight Sonata was one of her favorites, and the romantic tune rang clear throughout the parlour. Listening to the highs and lows of the song as she played them was very therapeutic, even if it was just for show. She could feel the three sets of eyes on her as her delicate spider-like fingers moved across the keyboard, pedal pressing rhythmically each time it was needed. Playing with heels was slightly annoying, but the lovely sound the piano emitted was worth it. Ophelia proceeded towards the end of the first movement, praying her father would not force her to play the second and third.

The piano in this parlour had a key that had blown it out last week, and she hadn't remembered to repair it yet. She did not want the same punishment she'd received the last time such a conundrum had happened. Thankfully, as the last chord dissipated into the air Cyrus was merciful and merely nodded as the two Malfoys clapped delicately.

"Narcissa, to what do we owe this visit?" Cyrus gave the woman clearance to explain the reason for their visit, sitting across her on one of the expensive plus couches. Ophelia stayed put where she was, slightly hidden from sight on the bench of the grand piano.

The blonde woman took a deep breath, as if it pained her to do so, and began. "As I am sure you both know, Lucius is not available to speak for the family at the moment. Before his departure, he expressed his wishes that a contract be offered to you. As families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, it is our duty to uphold the bloodlines' purity."

A brief pregnant pause, and she continued.

"We are aware that other contracts may have been offered. However, recent…events have left us in less than favorable conditions with our Lord. We wish to fortify our safety and standpoint, and we believe the House of Selwyn will benefit from such a match as well."

This looked incredibly difficult for Narcissa to say aloud, as she was admitting the family's need for help. Her usual snooty expression had been replaced by desperation and fear. Seeing a Malfoy beg on their knees was a sight for sore eyes, Ophelia deduced as she curiously awaited her father's reaction.

"Our own standpoint is not incredibly high," Cyrus rose a brow, playing humble and refusing to comment on the other parts of her message. "I am merely trusted with mass containment and execution matters."

"The Selwyn name is looked upon much more favorably than our own at the moment," Narcissa admitted, pursing her lips. Admitting defeat was eating her from the inside out, but the safety of her family apparently mattered much more. "I believe the match will please him."

"I have much respect for Lucius, I was sorry to hear of his sentencing." Cyrus looked back at his daughter on the piano bench, dark gaze calculating his odds. "She is pure, I'll have you know."

Ophelia nearly gagged at the discussion of her virginity out in the open, but she contained her reflexes and forced the bile back down her throat.

"Our bloodline is dying out," Cyrus conceded, much to Ophelia's surprise. He'd been known to have tortured and killed many of their immediate relatives, cousins and even distant family members, but of course he would never admit to it. "My daughter is the last of us. If I am to accept this contract, I require the promise of children."

The two adults looked towards Narcissa's only son, who paled a bit before swallowing quietly and nodding once. It was then that Ophelia saw the world swim before her eyes, until all was a mass of hues and shades eventually fading to black.

"Ophelia? Ophelia!"

The girl startled at the sound of her name and opened her eyes to find three concerned faces peering down at her. Good Lord – she'd fainted in front of the Malfoys. At the thought of childbirth, no less. She hadn't expected such a demand from her father, and she had failed in containing her shock. It was a stupid mistake she knew she would have to pay for.

"All you alright, darling?" Narcissa felt Ophelia's forehead, frowning slightly.

"Feeling a bit peckish, are we?" Her father ignored Narcissa's question and ordered a nearby house elf to fetch a cold cloth, annoyance breaking through the feigned concern in his tone.

Draco kneeled down to her level and reached out a hand, the gesture surprising Ophelia. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows pulled together in confusion before she reluctantly accepted his help, and with his assistance managed to stand.

"My apologies," Ophelia could not imagine the type of penalty that awaited her for having fainted right in the middle of such an important conversation, especially when they were arranging a contract. It made her look like an ill option.

He said nothing, but clasped her elbow, helping her to sit on the couch.

She fidgeted at his odd behavior until the house elf returned with the cloth, trying to ease the queasiness resting in the pit of her stomach and suppress the urge to vomit. It was surreal sitting next to the person who she'd been betrothed to and practically ordered to have children with. The thought made her head spin once more.

"Cyrus, what say you?" Narcissa turned back to Ophelia's father once she was certain his daughter was safe beside her son.

It took only a moment for him to make his choice, "Let it be done."

Ophelia felt the remnants of an already nonexistent life slipping away between her fingers as she watched a triumphant smile make its way across Narcissa's face. The witch retrieved some documents from her handbag and presented them to Cyrus, sealing two fates that were not hers to seal. Both Draco and Ophelia watched from the couch as their parents signed away, helpless to the turn of the tides and the wills of their parents. By now they were in too deep, caught inside a whirlwind of a war that had nothing to do with them. They were dangling right above the mouth of the Kraken with nothing to hold them up.

Ophelia was called upon to sign first, and Draco assisted her to stand once more so that she could make her way over to the back of the grand piano that was being used as a makeshift table. The young witch gulped heavily upon reading where she should sign, accepting the quill her father handed her and scrawling her name in gentle cursive on the dotted line. It felt like she was signing away her life, and in many aspects that was true. Cyrus did not miss her obvious displeasure at the sight of the contract.

Draco was next, clearly quite perturbed by the events but expressing a calm demeanour nonetheless. He stayed close to Ophelia's side, perhaps finding comfort in solidarity. The young witch didn't know the real reason, but it felt better having someone to slump onto in case her body decided to drop like a sack of potatoes again.

The parchments in front of them were sealed with an unbreakable bond, meaning failure to meet the terms of the marriage would result in death. Ophelia didn't know why this upset her so; she had been expecting it since she had turned seventeen and had begun receiving requests from several other families for a betrothal. Maybe it was the onset of the situation that had made her so nervous, but she admitted to herself that it could have been worse.

What puzzled her even further was her father's snap decision when it came to the proposal; she had not expected him to agree to such a contract so quickly, even if the two families had a history.

"Thank you both," Narcissa made eye contact with both Cyrus and his daughter, before motioning for Draco to follow her. "I assure you this will do well."

The Selwyns escorted them to the foyer. Ophelia took this time to give Draco a cautious one-over. She'd noticed a change in his haughty and arrogant ways, as he was more withdrawn and apathetic than usual. Malcontent and pride had been abandoned for contemplation and brooding, it seemed, and she had a few guesses as to why. Either way, she decided she preferred this Malfoy over the cocky git she'd been housemates with during the last five years of school.

Narcissa moved to embrace Ophelia in farewell, and Cyrus went to shake Draco's hand. The boy gave the young heir a quick kiss on the cheek, only lingering there for a second or two, and then he and Narcissa were gone. Ophelia wished they had stayed longer; perhaps it would have allowed her father to forget her blunder.

In two wide strides Cyrus was upon her, quickly landing a backhanded blow to the left side of her face. Ophelia stumbled in pain before standing straight, awaiting the harsh words that were to be spat in her face. She knew she had not done well in burying her true feelings. "Do not embarrass me in such a manner ever again. Your incapability of retaining self-control is pitiful."

"I'm sorry, sir." She resisted the urge to scream that such statements were blatant lies, instead looking directly at his chest at the pendant proudly bearing another Selwyn family crest.

Apparently displeased with her response, Cyrus gripped her chin and forced her to look up at him. "We have an appearance to uphold. Do not allow yourself such a blunder ever again."

With a wave of his hand she was dismissed, and she managed to hold herself together until she got to her room and cast a silencing charm.

She expected tears, but none came. Opening her mouth to shriek she awaited the deafening noise, but all her throat emitted was a pathetic squeak. Ophelia froze in shocked silence as her brain tried to process what was going on, body unable to cope with the sudden onset of stress. Standing for what felt like hours, the young girl tried to contemplate any escape from her current situation. Each conclusion she drew was worst than the last; disguise, escape, suicide – none of it was worth the risk, nor the final price. She was determined to live a full life on her own terms, but how?

Finally, Ophelia managed to gain back a bit of control and cleared her mind, retrieving the skills she had been practicing. It took a great deal of pushing, but she managed to drop almost everything from her head until all that was left was exhaustion. Heartache, stress, sadness, fear and outrage were swept away, falling to the pits of darkness they had first emerged from. She released a large breath and slowly slipped off her heels to go draw a bath.


	2. memento mori

**memento mori**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of Harry Potter or it's associated characters. I only own my OC, Ophelia, and her mother.**

Summer seemed to fly by at an astounding rate, despite many of Ophelia's days being spent locked away in the libraries of her home. June blended into July, heat waves making themselves apparent as time went on.

She had signed the marriage contract with the Malfoys nearly a month and a half prior and was due to visit the manor next week. The incident had given her an even better reason to practice Occlumency.

Word hadn't gotten out about her engagement, as she hadn't begun receiving angry letters containing hexes from the girls at school, but the young witch knew upon her return to Hogwarts that the news would spread like wildfire. Having the Slytherin sex God taken out of competition was going to disappoint many of her house-mates. She settled on praying for a quiet first term and forgiveness from whatever deity was mirthlessly ruining her life.

Exactly a week before her expected visit to Malfoy manor, her father had announced that it would be an ideal day for her to pick up her school supplies in Diagon Alley, as he had some business to attend to nearby and would likely be occupied the whole day. Keeping his daughter close was another way of controlling her every move, but Ophelia didn't mind as long as she got to spend the day outside. Seeing unfiltered sunlight was a rare and blessed opportunity.

"Be ready in half an hour. We leave no later than ten." Cyrus ordered, watching like a hawk as she made her way up the stairs.

Prepared for an outing, she'd chosen a Western-style green summer dress that ended mid thigh. The flow of the chiffon garment allowed her access to fresh air, arms free in their short sleeves. She closed herself in with the golden buttons lining themselves down her chest, adding light makeup that she hoped would not melt off in the heat. Dark brown heeled oxford pumps were quickly slipped on, and with a few spritzes of perfume she was ready.

Ophelia caught a look at herself in the mirror and stopped momentarily, the thought of marriage coming back to haunt her once more.

Whatever bubbly excitement she had retained at the prospect of leaving the house quickly melted within her. What she had to offer didn't matter anymore, as her beauty had already been bargained away. There would be no more options for her; no thrilling tale of how she met her future husband; no ecstatic moment for her as the love of her life bent down on one knee and proposed; no happy family to break the news to.

The girl swallowed the lump in her throat and grabbed her purse, briefly noting how ridiculous it was that her father bought her ludicrously expensive things from famous muggle brands such as Yves Saint Laurent and Prada yet refused to acknowledge their other contributions to the world. How such utter ignorance and hypocrisy could even exist was beyond Ophelia, but instead of showing her frustrations she tucked her wand into its strap on the side of her thigh and preceded down the stairs into the main hall. Cyrus was already waiting expectantly, hands behind his back as he did a one-over of her outfit selection. If he didn't approve, she would have to go back upstairs and resort to option B.

"Put your hair up." He ordered, giving her another one-over after she had placed her locks in a high ponytail, some stray hairs having escaped from the bundle. "Good. Come."

Ophelia followed her father out the door and down the driveway, already feeling the heat of the day beating down on her. It wasn't positively sweltering, but it was enough for her to be thankful she'd bought some of Madam Primpernelle's 'Dastardly Durable Deodorant' back in June.

She wasn't sure what type of business her father would be attending to, but as soon as they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and had passed through to Diagon Alley, he took off towards Knockturn without another word.

Ignoring her father's typical behavior, the young witch was left to her own devices and briefly noted how the alley had changed since her last visit. What were once bustling noisy streets filled with peddlers and stalls were now nearly barren, save for a few stragglers who had been brave enough to come out of their homes to do some shopping. Rarely did Hogwarts students come to pick up their supplies early, but it was going to be even harder to spot anyone from her school nowadays. With Lord Voldemort rising to power once more it was risky business travelling the streets in low numbers.

Ophelia knew her safety was guaranteed; very rarely did any of the children born into high society pureblood families go unrecognized, even less so when their parents were known for particularly atrocious and demonic crimes.

She thought back to the times both of her parents had still been alive as she headed towards Flourish and Blotts to purchase her books. She'd remembered reading on mass killings, brutal murders and whole scores of wizards and witches being held hostage during the First Wizarding War. It chilled her to the bone to acknowledge that her father had been responsible for nearly all of those horrors. When she had asked her mother, having brought a thick history text to her in the summer of her first year, Antoinette had snatched the book out of her hands and incinerated it right before her eyes.

It terrified Ophelia even more knowing that Cyrus was likely repeating his crimes. Due to this, she'd avoided reading the Daily Prophet since the Dark Lord's return.

"Miss Selwyn!" The shop's manager, Ingus Rotby, instantly tended to her as soon as the stores bell chimes announced her entrance. His petrified smile broke her from her thoughts. "What can I do for you today?"

Ophelia smiled pleasantly, handing the man the list of books required for her sixth-year courses and explaining that she would need them delivered to her home. Watching as he wandered in and out of bookshelves, taking down the copies of the books she needed and grumbling to himself about the bookworm nests he continued to find, it was clear that he was on edge. Little stutters in his usually calm demeanour and the slight shaking of his hands gave him away, present when he thought she wasn't looking. It tugged at Ophelia's heartstrings to see innocent people affected by matters that had nothing to do with them, but as he came closer she realized that it was not the impending threat of the Dark Lord he was presently concerned with.

She bid him a kind farewell and thanked him after having paid for her books, quickly travelling to Amanuensis Quills to pick up her supply for the year before walking towards Eeylops Owl Emporium. She was intent on getting Lando some treats, as she had a sneaking suspicion that biscuits just weren't cutting it for him.

In each shop she visited, spirits differed. Some shopkeepers such as Madam Malkin, who Ophelia stopped in to greet, seemed rather unaffected by recent events. Others, mostly those not of pureblood descent, looked significantly more concerned. What struck her even more was the hesitation and fear in the eyes of the shopkeepers she spoke to, regardless of their blood status or lineage. The phrase 'guilty by association' continued to whip through her head, and by the time she reached Slug & Jiggers Apothecary she'd almost had enough of Diagon Alley.

Thankfully, Maximus Kobblewort, the friendly bloke who had run the shop for years, did not fix her with the same expression of dread she was quickly growing tired of. "Miss Selwyn, fine day for shopping."

"Apparently I'm the only one who thought so," Ophelia laughed without a trace of humour, motioning behind her to the near empty streets. "I'm in need of a couple things. Do you carry all of these?"

Organized as ever, she handed the shopkeeper the list of items she required and waited as he travelled to the back of the shop to look for some of them.

"Sixth year potions, eh?" He lifted a bushy brow as he ringed up her purchases. "I take it your fifth year went well."

Ophelia allowed herself a proud smirk as she handed over the money and put the rest in her purse, fitted with an undetectable extension charm. At least her grades had not suffered during the stresses of the past year. "My exams were splendid, thank you."

"Best of luck to you!" The shopkeeper wished as she departed from the store.

Ophelia didn't spot her father anywhere in the alley, and so she made her way towards Twilfitt and Tatting's to browse until he came to find her. She had no intention of seeking him out, especially if he was here on 'business'.

Madame Rivera greeted her heartily as she entered, guiding her towards the newest arrivals of the season, and Ophelia set about trying to pick out what was appealing to her. A black sleeved shirt with a criss-cross design across the chest caught her eye, and whilst trying it on with another dress and two pairs of comfortable velvet lounging pants, she overheard a familiar voice that nearly stopped her heart.

"I'll only be a minute, Draco." Narcissa Malfoy's footsteps travelled to the back of the store, where Madame Rivera's desk was located.

Ophelia listened to them discuss dress robe delivery, no doubt for her son, and tried to keep her breaths as quiet as possible. It wasn't as if she didn't want to see them, but if she had a choice in the matter she would have rather not made conversation with the person she was due to have a child with. Any more rumination than the amount she'd already done on the subject would have caused her head to implode, Occlumency aside.

She hid out in the changing room until the two left, heartbeat slowing when Rivera begin to hum to herself again.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Ophelia was reminded of the fact that she would have to get used to seeing the platinum blonde duo whether she liked it or not. Still, the situation was raw enough as it was that it gave the young witch no inclination whatsoever to actively try and engage with the Malfoys until necessary.

Exiting the changeroom, she took a good look at herself in the shop's mirror and decided that she would take the floor length black dress. With its long sleeves and a large slit up the side of one leg, it tastefully complimented her soft curves. She dropped it and one of the lounging pants on Madame Rivera's desk, satisfied that she'd managed to avoid at least one cringe-worthy interaction for the day.

Her father found her waiting near Gringott's minutes later, and with a final quiet pop the two apparated back to Oxford. He made no mention of seeing the Malfoys, much to Ophelia's relief.

"Our visit to Malfoy manor will more formal than expected. Ensure you dress well. You must wear black." Cyrus instructed as soon as the two were within the walls of Selwyn manor.

Ophelia watched him saunter off towards his own wing, giving her no time to respond. He'd always been cold and short, but he did not even seem to be able to look her in the eye as of late. She could feel her time running out. It would have taken an idiot not to know what was coming, and there was nothing that nothing could be done.

The week was spent pacing in her library, contemplating the malevolence she was about to face. Her devotion to Occlumency became more pronounced than ever, all time available in between frantic footsteps thrown towards shielding her mind and dropping all but a few select items from her thoughts. Her skills would soon face the ultimate test, and she did not know if she was ready. Lando had also noticed her change in attitude and her lack of replies to Daphne, causing the bird to spend more time in the libraries with her.

Cyrus had not been present at mealtimes nor had he spoken a word to his daughter since the day she'd gone to pick up her schoolbooks. Ophelia wasn't necessarily bothered, but it unnerved her that whenever she did get a good look at him he seemed lost in his own head more than ever before. A sort of sickly happiness had overcome him, and she often heard him talking and laughing maniacally all the way from the other end of the manor. She had come to accept the fact that she didn't really know her father well at all, and the little that she did know of him was all heinous.

The night before her visit to Malfoy manor, sleep did not come. Ophelia spent nearly all evening pacing in her bedroom and giving her mind a rest, hoping that her defenses would be refreshed and ready to go by morning. They were not due at the prestigious home until late at night, but she did not want to take any chances.

When the sun rose, she drew herself a bath and carefully styled her hair, pulling the long black waves into a flowing twisted half updo. It was chique and effortless, even if she was practically walking to her doom. Before breakfast she added careful eyeshadow to her lids and dark red lipstick to the look, hoping it wasn't too outrageous to warrant any serious consequences. A dress however, would have to be carefully selected.

The new dress she'd bought at Twilfitt and Tatting's would do, Ophelia decided after several scans of her walk-in closet. She eyed the recent purchase warily. It wasn't too risqué, but it would still set her apart. Quickly tossing a pair of patent leather platform pumps onto her bed to match the dress, she made her way downstairs and forced herself to eat.

Dining alone wasn't terrible, even if she did feel like the walls of her own home were closing in on her. It was somewhat peaceful to have the enormous hall to herself, although it was still lonely and far too large. At around eight o'clock the nausea began to settle in, rending her incapable of eating whatsoever. She retreated to her room, wearing a hole into the carpet once more.

She had refrained from practicing Occlumency for nearly a full twenty-four hours and found herself correct in her assumption that some time off would give her the kick she needed to get through the night. After donning her dress and shoes, she focused on looking herself in the mirror and dropping all thoughts and feelings from her mind. Much to her surprise, the task came easy to her, emotions and memories locking themselves away until they were called upon again. She pushed herself further and brought back only some prominent emotions of loyalty and strength, as well as any memories she could find of her accomplishments. All vulnerable areas were suppressed, hidden behind the metaphysical wall of steel. Inaccessible, as her father had taught her. In a way, she supposed, he had prepared her for this in ways no regular parent could have.

Ophelia hoped her mind would be strong enough to withstand the most accomplished Legilimens in the world, but she knew it was a bad bet.

Strapping her wand to its hidden holster, she made her way down to the foyer and waited in one of the lounging areas. What felt like hours went by until her father emerged from his wing and lead her to one of the many fireplaces. Cyrus stood by the floo network waiting, causing Ophelia to look up in hesitation. Answering her silent question, he held out the powder and tilted his head slightly.

"I'm going first?" She couldn't help the words as they fell out of her lips. What if _he_ would be waiting on the other side? She would have no lead to follow.

Her father's face contorted in rage, and he slapped her twice across the face for her insolence. Reeling from the blows she fell slightly to her right, feet failing her before Cyrus gripped her by the hair and forced her back up. Ophelia's scalp and left cheek were screaming in agony, but she managed to gather herself. There was no need for him to explain to her what she had done wrong; if she showed such hesitation in front of the Dark Lord he would not be as merciful.

With half the mind to thank her father before seeing how positively insane such a gesture would have been, she fixed her hair, took the floo powder from his outstretched hands and called out for Malfoy manor. The familiar feeling took hold of her as she stepped into the fireplace and was whisked away through time.

The landing was somewhat elegant, although she didn't expect to find the Malfoys waiting for her on the other end. Floo travelling while anxious had always caused her to land in a bit of a rush, resulting in a fast landing. She caught herself as gracefully as possible, nearly colliding with Draco when she stopped mere centimeters from his face.

 _Why in Merlin's name hadn't he moved?_ Ophelia released the deep breath she'd been holding before greeting the startled boy with a curt nod and moving to embrace Narcissa. She ignored both of their obvious stares at her cheek, instead directing her attention to where her father had emerged from the fireplace.

It didn't take long for her to sense the presence of something exceedingly dark in the house. The entire manor was barely lit as the four stalked through the halls, air growing colder and colder by the minute. Ophelia found her breaths growing more rapid and looked towards Draco, unsure of what she was trying to find. Comfort did not really exist in her life and it definitely did not exist in this home, _not with_ _him here._

He caught her eye and held her gaze for several seconds, neither of them betraying their true emotions.

Ophelia retreated into her own head for protection and comfort. It was a little more difficult to do with so many distractions, but she managed to put away nearly everything besides what she imagined the Dark Lord would have wanted to see. Still, no matter how hard she pushed, she could not rid herself of the terror that was residing in the pit of her stomach as they finally breached the dining hall.

He stood near the end of the table, red eyes locking onto the pair as they were escorted into the room. Ophelia couldn't possibly look away, hypnotized at the fact that she was in the presence of one of the darkest wizards of all time. If he wished, he could destroy her with a simple flick of his wand. Such immense power was indescribably horrific, yet inexplicably awe-inspiring.

Seeing that her father and Narcissa were beginning to bow, Ophelia quickly followed suit with a curtsey and tried to break her gaze from the Dark Lord. It occurred to her that he had more in common with a snake than a human; his nose had been replaced by two slits, his ears were barely noticeable on either side of his head, and an alien-like pallor sealed the bloodcurdling appearance.

"Cyrus," A mix between a hiss and a whisper made its way out of his throat. Ophelia's throat nearly closed in on itself. "Your daughter?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Black robes billowing behind him, Voldemort rose and moved swiftly across the room to inspect the black-haired witch. Ophelia fought tooth and nail to keep all of her true beliefs and weaknesses hidden away, letting through whatever terror she had to compensate.

He approached her lightly trembling form, walking menacing circles around her until he stopped before her face. "What a lovely young woman."

She sensed it coming before she felt it. With Occlumency, one felt as though tall grass was closing in and protecting the brain, but as soon as the Dark Lord focused his gaze she could feel external tendrils probing at her mind. Refusing to shut her eyes, Ophelia grounded herself and countered the Legilimency with the specific emotions and memories she wanted him to see. She could feel her wall lower slightly to let him in, points in time flashing before her eyes as they both watched. It only lasted seconds, but he retreated once he was apparently satisfied.

At least Ophelia hoped so, because based on his malevolent smile it was apparent he'd found something of interest.

"This match may yet prove useful," Voldemort took a step back and regarded the two students, gliding across the floor as if he weighed nothing more than the eerie breaths he spoke in. "Your task is simple."

Ophelia was frozen in dread as she prepared for his next words. Beside her, she felt Draco bristle.

"You will end Albus Dumbledore."

She could feel half of her brain practically shut down.

It took a ridiculous amount of mental energy to block any reaction and force her alarm down. Occlumency took over once more, shielding her with its large impenetrable wings of numbness. The world had turned on its hilt.

"It will be done by the first vernal equinox," Voldemort continued, chilling glare travelling between both of them. "Do not disappoint me."

Red eyes then shifted behind them, where the two adult figures stood in the room. "Those closest to you will bear the consequences of your failure."

Ophelia didn't dare look up at her father until the Dark Lord had turned his back. What she found in his eyes confirmed that the man she was looking at had no heart to speak of. There was not an ounce of worry or love in his eyes; only sheer emptiness greeted her. A rough shove on the back of her head courtesy of Cyrus himself forced her to look forwards once more, finally making her understand why Voldemort trusted him so. His soul seemed to have been stripped away, evil taking its place.

He would kill her before her own stupidity got the chance to kill him.

"Come." The Dark Lord demanded their attention once more, lifting a hand to beckon the children.

In a trance-like state, the two obeyed and took careful steps towards the dark wizard. Ophelia did not know what to make of this request, but she imagined the possible atrocities. Would he torture them? Inflict Imperium? Or worse? A multitude of things could happen, all of which were bad, but Ophelia still found herself taking steps forward. She had no other choice.

Her defenses stayed up as she halted before him, trying not to lose herself in the blur of evil before her.

"Your arm," Voldemort rasped, unclear on who was to perform the action.

Draco volunteered himself first, extending his bare forearm.

At the sight of this, she had to physically restrain herself not to turn tail and sprint. They would be receiving the dark mark. A brand. A symbol of servitude to a Lord she did not believe in, and an instant bond between her and evil. This was the ultimate sin; she could not be absolved of such a transgression.

The Dark Lord extended his wand and began to murmur incantations that Ophelia did not understand. They sounded vaguely familiar to spells, but they had undertones even more heavily influenced in Latin. Hearing the incredibly old and sacred language used in such a nefarious way was devastating. Watching with both astonishment and despair, she witnessed Draco's skin darkening and changing until the design became clear, burning through the muscle underneath it. Her counterpart only issued a slight flinch during the minute it took to imprint the mark, stepping back once it was finished.

Voldemort turned to her.

Watching the last pieces of control in her life slip away from her, Ophelia lifted her sleeve and unwillingly prepared herself for the pain. She tried not to think of the words 'searing' and 'flesh' as the incantations were murmured, mark beginning to burn its way through her limb. It took the most effort she'd ever had to use to avoid screeching in pain, any remaining focus going towards trying to keep her thoughts safe. It felt like someone had slit her wrist and fired a Confringo spell right in the wound, torment travelling up her limb all the way to her heart and lungs. It suffocated her and made the world tilt before her eyes, shock threatening to pull her under its false veil of protection.

It was then that she felt him try and access her mind once more, disguising himself behind the throes of agony. Her whole body shook, pushed to breaking point trying to shield itself from the attack. In a furious frenzy he continued to probe, only retreating when he had finished shredding her arm apart.

The torture ended just as abruptly as it had started.

"How…fascinating." A maleficent murmur was all he issued, towering over her quivering form.

Ophelia knew she could not protect herself from another intrusion. Begging for mercy was not an option, so she braced for a second impact. It did not come.

A few short seconds of an apprehensive gaze was all he issued towards her before turning to her father, "Come, Cyrus."

The two disappeared from the room, and she held down the vomit that was threatening to spew from her mouth. Her arm was numb, and her head was throbbing. The thought of suicide briefly passed through her mind again, causing her to debate whether it would have been worth it to end it all just to give herself the rest of eternity in peace. To live in this struggle without a guarantee of life and a looming threat of a painful death was folly. The odds were stacked against her.

With a sudden start, Ophelia realized that if she were to kill herself, the action would violate the marriage contract sealed with an unbreakable vow. If she were to die, she would never marry or produce the offspring outlined in the terms of the contract, which meant Draco would perish as well. This would guarantee the deaths of the Malfoys, and her own father. No matter what path she chose, there was endless collateral damage and blood she did not want on her hands. Furthermore, standing resolutely as the main pillar of her reasoning, her will to live still burned bright. For the time being, she was completely and utterly trapped.

"I'm not permitted to return home without my father." She could not stand the quiet in the room any longer, and the mark on her arm was beginning to grow rather unbearable.

With the realization that she hadn't spontaneously combusted or imploded due to the sheer amount of stress placed on her, Ophelia gathered any remaining energy and stood stiff as a board. Then, in a last-ditch attempt at self-soothing, she compartmentalized all of her feelings into a tight compressed ball and squeezed them into the overstuffed box that was already overflowing with all the matter in her head.

"Draco," Narcissa broke out of her own teary-eyed silence, looking up at her son who was wound in her tight embrace. "Bring her upstairs. I will wait for their return."

Her classmate led her out of the dining room and up the dark stairs towards the third floor. Endless hallways led in nearly every direction, reminding Ophelia of a maze. By the time they reached Draco's quarters – or at least what Ophelia assumed were his quarters – she could not stop the nausea that was disrupting her stomach and no longer cared about putting up a ladylike front. She pulled down her hair, kicked off her heels, stalked to the nearest bathroom, and promptly vomited.

Memories, thoughts, feelings and emotions she'd been bottling up for hours came pouring back up to the surface, flooding her head and inducing more vomit. Yet another physical interruption was apparently too much for her brain to handle and the bathroom spun in circles before her.

Out of the blue, cold hands were pulling her hair away from her face. Bile scorched her throat, evidence of the lack of food she'd been eating and distracting her from whoever was helping her at the moment. There was really only one possibility, but Ophelia was not inclined to believe that Draco had suddenly grown an empathetic bone in his body.

Gradually the bile gave way to dry heaving, which slowed after several minutes until she was finally able to drink water from the glass handed to her.

"He knows we're going to fail."

Ophelia stopped drinking and looked behind her, hoarse voice cracking as she questioned him in bewilderment. "Pardon?"

Draco came into her full view as he knelt beside her and handed her a towel. Ophelia took to wiping her face and flushing the toilet before drinking more water. She dry-heaved once more, but nothing came out, and so she rested her head against the wall instead of hanging it into the porcelain throne. Since when had he begun extended a helping hand to the sick?

"I need to restore the Malfoy name," The young witch took a good look at the boy. He looked as if someone had deflated him of all his poise and power. "He knows we can't do this."

She waited for further explanation, but his words did not come. Ophelia did not need them, for she had connected some of the dots herself. "He's doing this to punish your family, isn't he?"

Draco's eyes withered at her easeful tone. He looked worn out. Defeated, really. It was almost sad. Again, he said nothing, waiting for Ophelia to draw her own conclusions. She didn't mind the pattern. In her opinion, past desires and dreams were irrelevant; what mattered was the present. She did not comment, paranoia urging her to think twice about a possible manipulative scheme that could be afoot.

In resolute silence the two sat, lights behind their eyes all but extinguished. In some ways they were equals, but they did not have the bond to be able to reap the benefits of such a relationship.

"What are we going to do?" She eventually asked, concern getting the best of her. The task at hand seemed impossible. By March, their headmaster had to be executed.

He took a dejected look down at his ring, bearing the Malfoy family crest. "What we were told to do."

It was a bitter and unfortunate reminder that they had no other option. Whether or not they had agreed wasn't really of concern, Ophelia thought wearily. They had been assigned a task with a major threat attached to it. As much as she didn't mind the idea of her father passing away, she knew an intentional failure on her part would likely kill her before it killed him. Cyrus was a skilled man, capable of tracking down even those who left no tracks. She did not want to bet against his taste for blood, especially if it was to be her failure he would be paying for.

She did not want to admit it, but the thought of his passing did strike a chord within her. He was her only remaining family, and he had not made any attempt on her life. Frowning, Ophelia tried to reason why she was at all angry with her father. He had always fed her, clothed her and allowed her to stay in his home. Any material goods were always provided to her, even upon request; tutors always paid for, Christmas gifts always plentiful. He had ensured her betrothal to a family that would provide her wealth and would leave her with a plentiful affluence. He had never once given her ill advice and had steered the reigns for her survival. All in all, he had ensured she was ready for the life she was living; a life that neither of them had chosen, considering their families' ancestry and ties to dark magic. So, despite the fact that he was grooming her to become the perfect heir to the throne of blood he had built, she did not wish for his death.

To kill Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards the magical world had ever seen, was a task so incomprehensible that Ophelia couldn't believe she hadn't noted its impossibility before her classmate had. Of course, they would never be able to slay the man; and the consequences of failure made it obvious that their Dark Lord had thought this through rather well.

Trying to relax, the girl closed her eyes and let her head make contact with the wall, a dull thud issuing in response. Her memories and emotions were bubbling, happy to be back in their spaces, but she weakly shoved them back into the locked box. Her interactions with the Dark Lord had left her in a less than optimal functioning state. Although she could still feel them there, the Occlumency allowed her past consciousness to be less in focus, which provided for a clearer mind. It was also significantly more peaceful, but this did not last long.

Abruptly, she began to feel the same familiar tendrils she'd felt when Lord Voldemort had invaded her mind five minutes prior.

"What are you doing?" Ophelia's eyes flew open, the angry question flying out of her mouth before she could help it. Who did he think he was, trying to creep his way into her mind?

Draco fixed her with a glare, silver brow raising in ample curiosity, "I could ask you the same thing, Selwyn."

"Ophelia." She corrected mirthlessly, chocolate orbs flashing in displeasure. "I'm trying to calm down. I'd appreciate a little privacy."

Feeling another probing sensation, she sighed and pushed his offense back. It took a lot of force, like trying to move a large settee all by oneself. Draco was also proving more stubborn than she'd thought he would be, and it came as a shock to her that he was able to produce a reasonably apt wordless Legilimency spell. He was relentless in his attempts to access her mind. It was not only a threat, as there were secrets she would rather he did not know, but she needed time to rest. She was feeble, pathetically so, and it was taking more and more effort to keep him out of her head.

"How are you doing that?" Draco eventually relented, somewhat peeved.

At this, Ophelia released an exhausted sigh and feigned ignorance. "Doing what?"

"Blocking me. I can't see a thing." He clarified, apparently much more energized than she was. Perhaps the Dark Lord had not searched his mind, or perhaps Draco had not bothered hiding anything.

"I…I don't know how to explain it," She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, unsure how skilled he was in the field of Occlumency. "Sorry."

She did not feel particularly apologetic in the slightest.

A moment of silence passed before it came apparent that this was not enough. "Why are you keeping me out?"

She opened her eyes and frowned openly, as if he'd just asked her a completely ridiculous question. Of course, she would want to keep him out; her mind was private, only for her. Besides, she was in a weakened state of mind at the moment and taking advantage of such a thing was not the right thing to do. If he wanted information, he would get it in time if and when she chose to reveal it.

"You can't just take whatever you want," Ophelia scowled as she moved to rise from her spot near the toilet. She nearly fainted but managed to hide it by going to wash her hands. "Do you think I go around giving everyone access to my most intimate thoughts?"

This seemed to shut him up for a good several minutes. She gathered her shoes and finished her water, leaving the empty glass on a bookshelf nearby. Parking herself on a window seat that looked comfortable enough, she tried to relax once more and focused on the gentle rain hitting the glass outside. She wasn't expecting Draco to resume the conversation, although she had to confess it did feel better talking to someone instead of sitting alone with her thoughts.

"Can't you just hide them?" He made his way into the room, removing his dress jacket and tossing it onto a nearby couch.

Giving him a disinterested side eye, she replied, "Have you studied Occlumency?"

"Obviously." He retorted, proving that he had not lost all of his cocky mannerisms and stubborn haughtiness.

Ophelia emitted a brief noise of disapproval before elaborating, "Then you should know that I am tired and weak. I don't see why you feel entitled to a look inside my head."

Draco's eyes narrowed with a tip of his head, implying that she had missed an important point. "Because we've been betrothed."

She stilled and nearly vomited again, choosing to display how she felt with a quiet glare directed in his direction. She did not owe him a look in her head simply because they had been required to marry and reproduce. If he was under the impression that she was going to bloom and reveal all of her secrets like those putty Slytherin girls right in his hands, he had another thing coming. He could not be trusted. Her mind was her own.

"I don't owe you anything." She couldn't help but voice her thoughts in a tight-lipped growl, redirecting her livid gaze to the window.

He did not reply to this and Ophelia did not bother turning to catch his reaction. It was not worth it to try and begin to build a relationship with him if he could not be trusted, and at the moment she was not in the mood to take leaps of faith. Thus far, he had not even given her a single reason to consider befriending him. She supposed such harsh restrictions could be regarded as unfair, but this was a matter of her safety. It was unclear where his loyalties lay.

To her complete and utter surprise, instead of arguing with her, Draco came to sit beside her on the cushioned seat and did not utter a word. She had half the mind to shove him away and call him cruel names, but this was his home and her father would have her head if the little ferret went crying back to his mother.

Unable to contain the memory from fourth year as it pushed its way to the front of her brain, Ophelia let out a huff of cruel laughter.

Immediately, his grey eyes were upon her. "What?"

She opened her mouth to explain, pausing briefly as she considered whether the answer would anger him or not before concluding that she did not care. "Ferret."

He looked as though he was about to spit out an angry reply, but after analyzing her airy tone his expression changed. A microscopic frown crossed his features and he let the comment slide, even permitting a light snort in reply. To say Ophelia was gobsmacked would have been an understatement. The Dark Lord had certainly taken the fire out from him, but she decided that preferred Draco this way. It made him seem more human.

"That was a long time ago." Draco mumbled, looking down at the mark that had been recently engraved onto his arm.

It did seem like ages ago. She would have given anything to be back in her fourth year again, oblivious to the new set of impossible obstacles ahead of her. To be so ignorant was blissful and freeing. Occlumency mimicked the feeling, but it was never quite the same. Awareness could not be snuffed out by simply concealing memories and emotions from the forefronts of one's own head.

Ophelia winced as another spasm of pain shot through her. The aching in her arm had slowly spread to the joints in her shoulder, rendering the limb useless. If she did not get her hands on some tonics soon, she would have to resort to old fashioned healing methods to get through the night. There was no way of knowing how long her father would be gone for.

"Sore?" Draco caught her attention and motioned to her arm.

Admitting it was difficult, but eventually she let out a noise of affirmation. Convincing anyone that she was made of iron would have never worked anyhow.

He stood from his place and went to go root through a cupboard, emerging with a bottle, a cloth and bandages in his hands moments later. Ophelia eyed him warily, fearful of any ill intentions involving harm. For all she knew, the glassware could have contained a poison of some sort. Would Malfoy really be that daft? She'd almost been on the verge of self-destruction herself twenty minutes ago, but the fallout of such actions had stopped her. She did not know his level of desperation, or if he was willing to drag others down into his same demise. If he decided to poison her, he too would cease to exist.

Her rapid, anxious thinking took its toll, causing her to reel back in a panic as Draco went to soak the fresh mark.

"It's Murtlap Essence," He clarified without a trace of annoyance in his tone, befuddling her further. She'd never seen him so patient. "What?"

"I know what it is," She bit out nervously, eyeing him up and down. "You first."

Draco rose a brow, but did not counter her and tended to himself. Only after she'd watched him gingerly treat, clean and wrap the wound did she accept his help and took the cloth from his hands. She wet the other side of it with the Essence and expertly handled her own bandaging, experience serving her well. The potion helped with the burning of the abrasion, but not the aching.

"When do you reckon they'll be back?" He asked, watching her tighten the bandage around her wrist.

Ophelia shrugged, putting down the supplies and looking out the window to the vast estate grounds. It was not her place to question her father and while she did have the urge to return home, she would not defy him. The price of such a violation was not worth sleeping in her own bed.

"You're not concerned?" He seemed skeptical.

She nearly laughed and instead let out a rather unladylike scoff, "I have nothing to be concerned of."

"Why?"

"Why is it of any relevance to you?" Ophelia snapped, growing tired of such a useless line of questioning. The truth was that it was none of her business, and she really didn't want to think of the horrors that could have been afoot due to her father's bloodlust. Besides, what counted as danger for some was not the same to Cyrus Selwyn. He could take care of himself.

 _What's this? Concern, for the behemoth?_ Good God, had she gone totally soft?

"What the hell is your problem, Selwyn?" Draco's features twisted into a sneer, expressing how he felt about her lack of faith in him.

"Ophelia!" Frustration bubbling over, she slapped her hand down on the cushioned seat and corrected him for what she hoped was the final time. "I don't have a problem, Malfoy. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Draco," He countered, catching on to her obvious jab and pointing between them with a long thin finger. "and as far as I'm concerned, we're coworkers. So, spit out whatever bone you've got to pick with me, before daddy dearest comes back and slaps you through the fireplace. Again."

She couldn't help it; her anger flared and like an arrow shooting from its bow, her hand connected with the side of his face. A satisfying slap rang out through the room, Ophelia's nostrils flaring as she tried to contain the rest of her rage. She could not believe he'd used such a small and personal detail to insult her. The nerve of him!

Draco's cheek began to change color, his pale skin shifting pink and then red due to the absorbed trauma. A handprint could easily be made out after a few more seconds. She was about to open her mouth to chastise him some more, but he was already a step ahead of her.

"Legilimens."

She hadn't even seen him take out his wand.

Distracted by her own fury, she had not bothered to ensure her defenses were up and was taken by surprise when he forced his way through her mind with a renewed vigour. Without any mental energy to speak of after her encounter with the Dark Lord, her ability to withstand any intrusions was limited. In her feeble state, she was no match for even an amateur Legilimens.

With horror, she felt Draco begin to descend into the extensive layers of her mind. He did not seem to travel as fast as Voldemort had, revealing his lack of expertise, but he was still able to access nearly everything she had hoped to keep from him. Ophelia lay an open book before him, disappointed and enraged with herself for having allowed such a trespassing to occur. She attempted to push him out, but it was like trying to rip a stone in half. Knowing that she likely would not be able to exorcise him, she instead tried to isolate and lock away certain areas of her head. This act also deemed itself futile, as her mind refused to grant any defense for her unless it had been established before the breach. This gave her incentive to find a partner to practice with in the future, but for now the information was just adding insult to injury.

In silent enmity, she felt him sift through countless emotions and spare thoughts, searching for significant feelings. It took him a bit to find them, but the knowledge of their existence helped him dig them out and force them to surface. As soon as he tapped into the powerful reservoir of confidential secrets and memories, it was as if they had both stepped into a time capsule.

Visions of life flew by, appearing before them as brief moments and snippets of important occasions. Ophelia could feel him watching as if they were in a theatre if dreams. It was nothing like the intrusion of the Dark Lord. She had done well in hiding her truths from the great wizard; Draco, on the other hand, had taken advantage of her vulnerability and was accessing the very things she did not want anyone to see.

Her earlier memories came first – those of her receiving her wand, being sorted into Slytherin, her mother demanding her to practice her concertos and her father telling her that if she did not keep up her grades there would be no food left for her on the table. Her first beating when she had been found feeding feral cats in the hedges of the Selwyn estate and her father's orders that she burn the felines alive herself – 'a lesson in worthless handouts', he had called it, as he vanished their seared carcasses. The discovery of her mother lying in one of the bathtubs, immobile and unresponsive, a large vertical slit having been cleaved into her left arm where a dark mark lay. The endless looks of pity and suspicion from her fellow students. The discovery of her dark, corrupted family ancestry and the atrocities her father had committed. The muggle books and the subsequent beatings and burning over said books. Her mother's funeral.

She was going to have to relive it all, and Ophelia did not have what it took to fight against it. It was sick of Draco to have preyed on her in her moment of weakness, but perhaps after he had exposed her to the Dark Lord and she had been executed she would be able to rest in peace.

The memories shifted, exposing moments of change. Her first period, her first kiss, her dance at the Yule Ball, her accounts of the bullying at Hogwarts and her silence on the matter of blood purity. Her first time touching herself, overhearing gossip in the Slytherin common room, preparatory examinations, a particularly harsh beating over a blown-out key in one of the grand pianos that had left her with a split lip and more knowledge about the Cruciatus curse than she had ever wished for. The priceless discovery of Madame Primpernelle's 'Constantly Concealing Cover-up', O.W.L examinations, her attempts at Occlumency, her sleepless nights, her reaction upon hearing of her betrothal and of the order that she bear children. Her burning hatred of pureblood ideals and blood patriarchy.

The memories, true to their chronological order, eventually arrived at the present time where the Dark Lord had violated her mind and scorched the dark mark into her. It was quite strange; Ophelia could feel the same emotions and thoughts she had felt in that moment as if it was existing on some sort of alternate timeline. She could feel her own agony and the stain that tainted her soul. She felt the elephantine weight that she would now have to carry with her. Her regret at not having escaped sooner, ended her life sooner, called for help sooner. Her desperation to die and feel release, only to recognize her entrapment. The subsequent despair and helplessness. The hidden respect for her father.

Ophelia couldn't stand it. She took whatever stamina she had left and shoved it at him, using animosity as fuel. The mortification assisted in activating any possible mental muscles to bulldoze Draco out of her head, reversing his intrusion like infection leaving a wound. To her astonishment, he catapulted out at a rate so vicious the two were shoved back into present time, reeling from the dizzying sensation.

She was absolutely irate after gaining control of herself again, quaking with anger she did not know she had. Although exhaustion was leaking from her pores, it could not contain the slow thrums of hatred that made her snatch Draco's wand from beside him and headbutt him so furiously that he was nearly knocked off his arse from the force.

No words could allow her to express the betrayal and humiliation she felt. No one had ever bothered to teach her to use such words to express her emotions. So, she employed the only tactic she had learned: violence.

In a bought of mirthless rage, she shoved him against the wall and stood, pointing her wand at his throat. Disarmed and cemented to his spot, Draco blinked sluggishly to try and focus on the female in front of him. She had to admit, it was satisfying using physical force as opposed to magic at times.

"That was not your place," She snarled, digging the eight-inch piece of Yew further under his chin as he tried to shield himself blindly. "I encourage you to keep that big mouth of yours shut and not utter a word of this to anyone."

His vision finally focused, grey eyes blearily zeroing in on her crazed expression. Unsure if he looked aghast or threatened, Ophelia drove her point home with a last brutal grimace and a twist of her wand.

"If I go down, I take you with me. Do you understand?"

Draco nodded once, jaw tightening. Her death would ensure his passing; it would be unwise for him to endanger her or vice versa. She hoped he was not stupid enough to make such a mistake, but it was worth it to emphasize their perilous situation just in case.

"I don't want to hurt you." He admitted cautiously, glancing between her outstretched arm and her terrifying glare. It seemed like his disbelief at her attack had faded for the most part, having been replaced by discretion and a smidge of fear.

She had no doubt that this was because of what he had seen. Even Daphne did not know the extent of her family's madness or her grim story and still treated Ophelia with a similar respect. Those who heard a whiff of the Selwyn's brutal history in the papers or through whispered conversations were able to draw conclusions not far from the truth themselves, although they would never know the accuracy of their nightmarish musings.

Ophelia lowered her wand after some deliberation, choosing to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. It was his own funeral if he made the mistake of attacking her, but she was under the impression that he wanted to do what he could to survive. His situation had become identical to hers, minus the hell one of them had grown up in.

She thrust his wand back into his chest, letting him fumble for it as she retreated to another corner of the room where a couch lay. It was clear from his shaken visage that Draco knew he had invaded her privacy, but she found none of the usual nonchalance and lack of empathy that he would have normally exhibited in such cases. Instead, regret clogged his face.

Apologies were never expected from a Malfoy, but the little prick looked close enough. Pleased with such a response, Ophelia sat back down and stretched out her neck to try and loosen some of the tight coils that had begun to knot themselves. She did not want to acknowledge it quite yet, but cooperation would be necessary if they both wanted to live. The Dark Lord likely had little faith in the completion of the task and either way it was all a mere ruse to crack down on Lucius for his failures.

She did not bother sharing possible ideas with the boy sitting across the room from her. Anything that came to mind would have been utter rubbish at the moment, as fatigue was beginning to settle deep into her bones. Ophelia fought to keep her eyes open, painfully aware that Cyrus could return at any moment and it would be not be looked upon favourably if she was found sleeping in a home other than her own.

Despite the threat of her father's anger, she found herself curling up on the plush upholstery and using her arm as a pillow. It wasn't very dainty, but it would do. She closed her eyes and resolved to stay conscious, paying attention to the sounds that broke through the quiet of Draco's quarters. He still hadn't moved, but she could hear her wristwatch ticking and the sounds of the rain outside. She wasn't sure of the time; it seemed like hours had gone by, and the faraway ringing of a grandfather clock revealed that this was quite possible. Such relaxing noises lulled her, slowly towing her away to the realm of dreams. For a moment or two she was certain that she had caught herself before slipping away, but with her body's urgent demand for rest Ophelia inevitably fell into slumber.

-

Her dreams had been empty, full of black space. It felt like she'd sat in the dark for eight hours in a lucid state, fully aware of the fact that her body was trying to recuperate. Never before had she experienced such a strange sensation. It was tranquil and rejuvenating, but mildly unsettling.

When she woke, she found that a fine fur blanket had been draped over her form and that a glass of water was waiting for her on a mahogany coffee table nearby.

Jolting from her spot with a start, she grabbed for her wand and made to rise from the couch. A glance down at her watch revealed the time to be around three in the morning; the devil's hour. Such a time held many troubling hazards. She assumed her father had not returned, or she would have been awakened much more harshly, and there was no sign of Narcissa anywhere.

Ophelia stood and scanned the large connected rooms for any signs of Draco after seeing his original post at the windowsill abandoned. It only took a minute for him to reveal himself, sitting in an armchair shrouded in darkness in the far opposite corner of the room.

"Merlin's balls -" She jumped as all of her muscles tensed at once, recovering quickly from the sudden scare. "Why didn't you wake me?"

He didn't look like he'd slept a wink. "You're much more docile when you're asleep."

She definitely did not appreciate the insinuation that she was some sort of raging animal while awake, and she could feel some of the indignity from their last interaction taint her cheeks a light pink.

"How's your forehead?" She quipped back sarcastically, hoping that a snitch-sized lump would soon form and shatter his angelic features.

Only sparing a soft snort in reply, Draco did not acknowledge her taunt any further. "You barely slept."

"And?" She challenged, reaching for the glass of water to take a sip, already feeling some of her energy returning. "You look like you haven't slept at all."

"You would be correct." He met her gaze evenly, daring her to make another smart comment. One was already on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back down.

He did not update her on the whereabouts of her father, thus confirming her suspicions that Cyrus was unlikely to return for the night. It would be a long several hours before daylight broke and the prospect of being stuck in Malfoy manor for more than another hour made Ophelia cringe. Seeing as the git was not going to make any further attempts at conversation, she took to exploring the room.

Decorated in regal tones of dark blue and forest green, the connected parlours looked like something straight out of a castle. It was comparable to her own estate, if one had built Selwyn manor vertically instead of horizontally. She wondered if Narcissa kept herself in shape simply by trotting up and down the stairs every day. While wizards rarely adopted muggle inventions, it was clear that this home could benefit from a contraption called an elevator.

"Pansy and I have been selected as prefects." Draco interrupted her silent musings from his place in the dark corner, forcing Ophelia to turn and look at him again.

"How fortunate," She commented breezily, no attempt made to hide her teasing smirk. "I wish your ears my utmost sympathy."

He sighed heavily, clearly not entirely thrilled about the decision their head of house had made. He had an extra outlet that she did not; watching him be disappointed in such a thing irked her.

"What is it, you don't want a nice shag every time you get stressed?" Ophelia smirked cruelly when he winced at her foul language. "You don't want to fuck her until you can't remember what you've done and where your father is -"

"Jealous?" Draco interrupted, surprising her with his capacity of control. His ego however, still betrayed him.

She deflected the cocky comment and smiled sadly, hoping he would soon see the bigger picture. "Distractions should never be taken for granted."

Before he could even think of a reply, a deafening slam reverberated through the walls of Malfoy manor and sent the Selwyn heir into a frenzy. It was most definitely Cyrus; a flourished entry was his style. Caught off guard by her father's sudden return, all argumentative tendencies were thrown out the window. Scampering back into the bedroom, Ophelia expertly restyled her hair and fixed some makeup that had made its way under her eyes. She slapped herself twice on both cheeks for color and went to exit Draco's quarters before realizing that she was missing her shoes.

"Where -" She turned to him, prepared to gripe at him for moving her belongings.

He'd risen from the armchair and was waiting for her by the door, motioning to her heels on the floor beside him. They stood neatly, most definitely not in the state they had been left in hours ago. What else had he done while she'd slept?

Barely audible words of gratitude were murmured as she balanced herself and slid them on, following him out and back down the spiraling corridors. There was no trace of the Dark Lord upon their arrival in the foyer, but Narcissa led them to the fireplace where Cyrus waited, eyes glinting in a way she'd only seen them glint a couple times before. It made her shiver, chill creeping down to the base of her spine.

Curt farewells were spoken and the Selwyns departed by floo network once more, returning to their own manor. Ophelia did not know what she had been expecting when they landed in their own fireplace, but when Cyrus stalked off towards his quarters without another word, Ophelia allowed herself a sigh of relief. No word at all likely meant she had done well, and that was the best outcome she could have asked for.


	3. lacrimae

**lacrimae**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of Harry Potter or it's associated characters. I only own my OC, Ophelia, and her deceased mother.**

It only took a few days for a letter to arrive. Sealed in a crispy white envelope and stamped with the Malfoy family crest, Ophelia feared the worst when she plucked it from Lando's beak.

 _Ophelia,_

 _Mother has mentioned a store in Knockturn alley worth investigating. There may be an instrument of use there. She's informed me she'll take us, provided we go at dusk. I'm making the safe bet that your schedule is rather empty._

 _13B Knockturn. Two days from now at seven sharp._

 _I also require some sort of solution for the injury you've caused my forehead with that thick skull of yours._

 _Draco_

Ignoring the passive aggressive insult, the raven haired witch allowed herself a proud smirk at his mention of their last interaction. She scanned over the letter again and made a mental note of the time and place before making her way to her father's wing. Permission would have to be granted before leaving the manor and this was already short notice.

"Father?" It took a good ten minutes for her to cross the home and arrive at his study, where she knocked lightly on the African Blackwood separating them.

"Enter."

She gave the door a firm push and tried not to make a face as the room revealed itself to her. The floor was coated in papers, books strewn left, right and centre. The office was in such a state of disarray that it seemed as though a tornado had passed through mere seconds ago. Ophelia glanced at the contents of the pages in apt horror and tore her eyes from them as soon as she recognized dark runes and forbidden curses. She'd been raised to understand that it was none of her business what her father did in his spare time, and after seeing a snippet of what he was researching she did not have the particular desire to find out.

"What is it, child?" Cyrus demanded, lifting his head from the pages he'd practically buried himself under. Large sheets and several maps were cast aside as he moved in his chair to narrow two beady eyes at her, resembling some sort of unshaven, unkempt mental patient dressed in the robes of a king.

"The Malfoys request me this Wednesday at Knockturn alley." She posed the situation to him clearly, trying her best not to step on any loose leaflets.

"Yes, fine. Leave me." Cyrus waved a hand and shooed her away, as if she was some sort of distracting pest.

Squaring her jaw and thanking him, Ophelia turned on her heel and shut the door behind her. She did not want to confront the possibilities of what he could have been working on. Aside from the general mess of his office and his overall dishevelment, he seemed to have lost his mind even further.

As per Draco's request, she departed from Selwyn manor two days later at six thirty, intent on visiting the apothecary for some wound cleaning ingredients and perhaps an extra vial of Murtlap essence. If she had the time, she would swing by Madame Primpernelle's and pick up some more 'Constantly Concealing Cover-up' to put an end to his whining. It felt good that she had done some damage, though she was surprised that he hadn't found a cure for it himself. He was no Hermione Granger, but Draco was surprisingly clever for the average bully.

When she reached Diagon alley, it became apparent that finding any open stores would be difficult; the place looked even more run down than the last time she had seen it. Nearly all the shops were abandoned, most having been broken into. Even Ollivanders had not been spared from the mess; its door was blown wide open and there was no trace of the shopkeeper inside. Only a few people were seen meandering about, trying to find an open store or two to buy schoolbooks and robes. It was an eerie ghost town.

Ophelia took slow steps down the alleyway, pulling her hood further around her face in hopes to protect her identity. At one time she would have been comforted by the security her family's name provided her, but the oncoming threat of war meant she would be seen as an enemy, not an ally. She did not want to risk running into any particularly passionate Gryffindors here, in fact she wanted to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible. Perhaps if she stayed silent enough, she would not have to align herself with either friend or foe in this fight.

The Dark mark on her left arm gave two sharp throbs in response, reminding her that her side had already been chosen for her.

Several wanted posters caught her eye and she stopped, heartbeat slowing as she realized that it was not her father's face that was plastered on the walls of Slug and Jigger's Apothecary but Fenrir Greyback's. It was not very comforting to see the grinning sadistic werewolf; however it was better him than her father. At least she could sleep at night knowing her home wouldn't be raided by Ministry officials, but another passing thought struck her and for a minute she thought of what life would be like if her father was ever apprehended.

The apothecary was deserted but the door remained blown open, hanging off its hinges. Ophelia quietly stepped inside and examined the back room to see if there was anything she could scrounge up. Burst bottles and broken glass lay everywhere, painting the picture of a very violent attack. She wondered if Maximus had made it out alive.

Thankfully there were a few scraps left here and there and the girl took what she needed. As she made her way out, she noticed a soft purple glow coming from the inside of one of the front desk drawers and went to investigate. Upon opening it, a Dreamless sleep potion revealed itself, vial still full of the precious liquid. The witch was rightfully suspicious, but after poking it with her wand she slipped it into her purse and counted her blessings. Such precious things were not to be ignored; she couldn't believe others had been blind enough to miss the vial of wonder.

Madame Primpernelle's was in an equally atrocious state. The whole place reeked of perfume and strange powders were strewn about, making it look as though the once neat and tidy shop had been taken over by a three-year-old. It was clear that it had already been raided by many teenage girls, as there was barely anything left on the shelves aside from shattered containers. Ophelia made her way to the back yet again, finding a small box of concealer buried behind a pile of perfume samples. It was as far as she was willing to look for Draco, and she left it at that.

Knockturn alley had never been her favorite place, but she was curious to see what Narcissa had been talking about and traipsed gently down the maze of pathways that would lead her to 13B. She had a faint memory of her mother stopping somewhere near here when she was younger, but when the shop turned out to be Borgin and Burkes she knew it could not have been right. Antoinette would have had no reason to bring her here; the two gentlemen who ran the store specialized in dark artifacts and antiques, often gruesome ones. She had often overheard her father speaking of the two during dinnertime, telling her mother of the next 'ground-breaking' device he'd found there.

Now that she had glimpsed the bloodied pack of cards and the variety of torturous objects hanging from the ceiling inside, she realized what he'd meant by that.

Ophelia pretended not to notice the incoherent ramblings of a passerby and shivered slightly. A glance at her watch showed the time to be exactly seven, and just as they had promised, the two remaining Malfoys rounded the dark corner seconds later.

"My dear," Narcissa was quickly upon her, grasping her shoulders and giving her two kisses on either cheek. "I have made arrangements for the school year. I assure you will both be well taken care of."

Ophelia wasn't sure what to say and was a bit taken aback by the woman's friendly disposition. Mrs. Malfoy had always been a cold soul and had never struck Ophelia as being particularly affectionate; it was strange to see her out of her element. The younger girl supposed thank you was in order, but she only issued a nod in response. Narcissa's definition of 'safety' was likely very different than her own. Nevertheless, she was a mother with her own child she cared for very fiercely and any form of protection was an advantage no matter how weak it was.

Draco gave her a small nod himself and Ophelia noted smugly that in the middle of his forehead lay a rather obvious bruise.

The three proceeded into Borgin and Burkes, where Mr. Borgin and Caractacus Burke were seated behind a large desk carved entirely out of black marble. The latter of the two was a rather heavyset fellow, who only grunted at the sight of them and then returned to his examination of a strange stone under a magnifying glass.

"Mrs. Malfoy, young Mr. Malfoy…Ms. Selwyn, what a pleasant surprise." The other greasy-haired man, whom Ophelia presumed to be Mr. Borgin, bowed deeply in greeting.

His eyes rested on her for a bit longer than usual and did not move until she had removed her hood, at which point he lifted a bushy brow above a lightly twitching left eye. Paranoia instantly flared inside of her and her brain immediately jumped to action, filing away anything and everything until all that was left was disinterest and mild disgust with the shop's various objects.

"We've come to see the cabinet, Mr. Borgin," Narcissa demanded, standing a bit straighter in her spot. Ophelia could see that she, too, was put off by the appearance of the oily shopkeeper. "And we've brought company."

Ophelia eyed the witch and hid her surprise, preparing herself for the worst. She doubted the Dark Lord was daft enough to come to Knockturn alley, but she was not going to make any more bad bets. It was always best to expect the most awful, as it was the prime motivator of a good first line of defense.

Mr. Borgin nodded once and led them to the back, where a door swung open to reveal several faces that were recognizable right off the bat. This was not because of the Wanted posters that bore their names and ugly mugs, or the fact that they had been infamous criminals, but because Ophelia knew some of them to be her father's guests back in the day. Refusing to betray her fear, she counted the five in her head and hoped they would spare the introductions. She did not want to hear any of these names aloud, although none of them terrified her as much as the Dark Lord's did.

Fenrir Greyback was the horrific hulk of a brute he'd always been, wearing his creepy grin with pride, but Amycus and Alecto Carrow looked genuinely pleased to be present and even bore chilling smiles as they locked eyes with her. Thorfinn Rowle, a giant blonde who looked as though someone had recently given him a rather botched prefrontal lobotomy, sported no expression, and his companion Antonin Dolohov looked like he could use a shave or two. As to the matter of why they were here, Ophelia had little idea. Narcissa had likely summoned them as extra muscle, but it meant that they were aware of the task at hand and it forced her to acknowledge the reality of the situation.

Mr. Borgin led them upstairs to an equally awful space, filled to the brim with repugnant creatures kept in jars and odd contraptions. In the midst of it all was a ten-foot-tall cabinet which had definitely seen better days, inscribed with ancient runes and indecipherable markings. She narrowed her eyes at the object, memory twitching.

Draco approached it first, running a large pale hand over the wood. "A vanishing cabinet?"

The question was directed to his mother, but Mr. Borgin responded, "It has been broken for some time. Its sister is likely the defective counterpart, but we are unsure of where it resides."

Ophelia frowned gently, moving to inspect the artifact herself. If it was possible to find the other cabinet, it was then possible to form a passageway between any two places one wished. She had remembered reading of the magical objects in a textbook from her mother's old study, before her father had boarded it up and laced the room with curses. Ophelia understood Narcissa's reasoning behind the tip – she had not wanted them to be alone in their task. The cabinets were a way to provide entrance to the castle, but not unless they found its sister. Still, it was a good lead.

"May I?" Ophelia looked to Mr. Borgin with a spare galleon in her hand, holding the coin between two thin fingers.

The man nodded minutely, and she opened the cabinet to place the coin inside. Draco eyed her with uncertainty but shut the door and locked it for her as she pulled out her wand. Recalling the incantation from the book she'd read years ago, she began to murmur and hoped for the best.

"Harmonia Nectere Passus."

The noise emitted from the cabinet was almost one decibel too low to hear, but she picked up on it and waited until it had faded to recite the spell again.

"Harmonia Nectere Passus."

Eight pairs of eyes stared on in suspense. Ophelia unlocked the cabinet and fished out the gold coin, holding it up so that all could see it had been completely bent in half. "Promising…but unfortunately inadequate."

She slipped the bent galleon back into her purse, not one to waste any money even if it was out of shape. Draco, after a suspicious stare in her direction, went back to inspecting the inside of the artifact, cautiously examining the engraved wood. Narcissa lay a hand on Ophelia's shoulder and the two shared a brief glance. She could have sworn she saw something like sympathy in the older woman's eyes, but within mere seconds it was gone.

"Mr. Borgin, do not sell this cabinet under any condition," Draco turned to the shopkeeper, who spluttered a bit before eyeing the felons that surrounded him as if they would save him from such an obscene request. "I will need instructions for repairs, when we manage to locate its sister."

"Mr. Malfoy, I can promise no such thing -"

"It is _his_ will," Draco interrupted, hiking up his sleeve to expose the dark mark. Narcissa looked away immediately, blinking feverishly.

It silenced the shopkeeper and drew the attention of the five other Death Eaters, who closed in tighter around Mr. Borgin. It would have been incredibly stupid of him to put up a front now, but Ophelia was certain that the odd fellow was not moronic enough to walk into such an obvious death trap. It only took a couple seconds of registered ill gazes from the convicts surrounding him to convince the man.

"Then his will be done." Mr. Borgins stammered moments later, assuring that the cabinet would not move from its place and tending to Draco as the boy shopped around the rest of the store.

Once dismissed, the Carrows, Greyback, Rowle and Dolohov all exited as silently as they had come, blending into the night. Ophelia watched them go from the window of the shop, black cloaks shrouding them so well that she lost sight of them within seconds. They moved like shadows.

It occurred to her that they were considered to be an extension of the Dark Lord's grasp, pawns of sorts. Even as a member of their inner circle, she did not believe herself to be a victim of this fate. She had not been completely brainwashed by supremacist ideals and warped mindsets.

A hand on the small of her back distracted her and she turned to find Draco behind her, porcelain features barely contorted in curiosity as he tried to read her expression. "Mother says she's got something else for us."

Ophelia followed him out the front door, choosing not to bid farewell to either of the shopkeepers as they exited. She noted he held two wrapped items between his arm and left side, but did not concern herself with it for the time being. Narcissa was waiting outside, hands clasped patiently at her front. She was holding a package of sorts, but when the two stepped closer it turned out to be a small box wrapped in a fine white sheet.

"These arrived today from the Ministry," She began, slowly unravelling the silky material. She seemed reluctant to do so, and Ophelia's heartbeat picked up in response. "They've been set with the vow. We haven't bothered with engravement, because…"

She trailed off, eyeing the two in guilt before frowning and continuing, "well, either way – here they are."

Narcissa opened the small leather box to reveal two pristine silver engagement rings, each marked with a small black vertical line. If Ophelia hadn't known better she could have sworn the two pieces of jewelry were laughing at her. She was just as much a pawn in someone else's game as the rest of the Dark Lord's army, stuck in a game that was not hers to play in.

The only positive thing to come out of this was that Narcissa did not seem as happy as she had originally been when discussing her son's marriage. The blonde woman eyed the rings with a detectable air of sadness, ripping her gaze from them after some brief seconds. Perhaps she had realized that taking away her son's freedom of choice and forcing him to conceive children was backwards and cruel, but it had not been enough to stop her from signing on an unbreakable bond. Still, t was hard for Ophelia to look down on someone who was doing what was best for themselves, even if what they did inconvenienced her.

She felt Draco's stare burning a trail into her left cheek as she reached for one of the rings, trying to remind herself that yes, in fact, it could have been worse and that yes, there was always divorce after childbirth and other opportunities for her to make her own choices. However, as she toyed with the light object, testing its weight and sturdiness, she couldn't help but acknowledge the lies she was feeding herself. This should not have been her path, and none of it was fair.

Ophelia held the ring up in the dimly lit street and marveled at how such a small object had so much power over her.

She supposed that life in its entirety was never fair, flooded with tribulations and tests of strength that were designed to push each soul to self-actualization. If this was the extent of her trials, so be it.

Draco drew her out of her reverie with a soft clear of his throat. Slightly embarrassed, she fought to contain a blush and returned her attention to his outstretched hand. She looked up at her classmate in confusion, taken aback by the amount of animosity that had faded from his eyes. Cautiously relinquishing the limb to him, she watched him slide the sterling silver onto her ring finger. His fingers were cold, as she'd expected them to be, but he was gentle in his touch.

It shrunk to the perfect size, collapsing onto her skin as if it had found its final resting place. Without a second thought she moved to do the same for him, acknowledging the smoothness of his skin and witnessing the metal stretching to fit his own finger. As soon as they had both been donned, the twin rings let out a faint golden glow that was trademark of the unbreakable vow.

Narcissa shut the box with a dull snap, eyes glistening in remorse. "This will do good for us all."

Ophelia's gaze darkened. The collective benefit did not always mean each individual received what was best for them, but such a utilitarian approach was the key to survival here. This was not Narcissa's fault.

"I'm due at home," The young witch checked the time and turned to the older woman, trying her best to avoid missing her curfew. "Thank you."

She didn't specify exactly what she was grateful for, but it was obvious that it was not the engagement rings. Ophelia then reached in her bag and took out the concealing powder, leaving it in the hands of a very surprised Draco.

"For you." She offered a bitter smile and tapped her forehead, still not having forgiven him for his prior transgressions.

"Let us walk you to a safe spot, I won't leave you here on your own." Narcissa took her by the arm and led both children out of the dark until they had reached Diagon alley.

The gesture was appreciated, even if it felt forced. The streets simply weren't safe anymore, no matter which side one belonged to. It took great difficulty not to reminisce about the lighter times in such a well-known place, when everything had been significantly less complicated and the threat of war was nonexistent.

There were no students in sight as they walked, only huddled figures hurrying in separate directions, no doubt just as petrified of being out late as the rest of their passersby. When the three reached the Leaky Cauldron and prepared to apparate, Draco's mother stopped her once more.

"Darling, you are always welcome in our home if need be," The words were hushed, like Narcissa was telling her a secret.

Ophelia deciphered the hidden message in seconds and tried to riddle out if it had been her own intuition or Draco's untameable tongue that had tipped the woman off. She looked between the two and thought back to the eve of which they had bore witness to her suffering left cheek, unable to conclude which one of them was opening a can of worms that should not have been touched. Pleasantries aside, she could tell Narcissa wanted to pull a response from her and was waiting for an acknowledgement of some kind.

Instead of giving in to the silly little mind game, she forced a thin smile on her lips and apparated without another word. Her last glance fell towards a stony-eyed Draco, who resembled a statue in his silent resolution. While she flew through time, picturing Selwyn manor as clearly as possible, she wondered if it was he who needed the Dreamless Sleep drought more than she. This sort of stress was something Ophelia had been taught to carry on her shoulders; her father had trained her for the pain and suffering it would take to survive. Draco, on the other hand, had less of a chance in this mess. They had both grown up with a silver spoon in their mouths, but the love Draco's parents had been enough to protect him from corruption until now.

She landed in front of her estate and passed through the gates, feeling the wards lowering for a split second until she was safe inside the high walls of brush. Unable to help it, she let out a scoff at the fact that Narcissa had had the nerve to insinuate that Malfoy manor was safer than own. With the Dark Lord using it as his hideout, it was the last place Ophelia wanted to seek refuge. Besides, her own father had ignored her for the entirety of the summer and she had the entire manor to herself; there was little threat aside from Lando's beak and letters from Daphne.

Still, she thought with a slight tilt of her head, it was interesting that Narcissa had said anything at all in response to her father's obvious misconduct. It was common knowledge that Cyrus was cruel and abusive; these were traits of the Selwyn bloodline and no members of the family were safe from them. Making a scene out of it was pointless and trying to stop it from occurring was like trying to ask someone not to eat or drink. It was the way of the family. Ophelia did not understand all of the shock and concern about it, nor did she understand offers such as Narcissa's. It was the first time she had received a formal invitation and what was practically a direct confrontation, but she knew that over time the mother would grow to understand her father's ways. The very foundation of the Selwyn family could not be shaken.

She arrived at the front door minutes later and found it unlocked. Her father was nowhere to be seen or heard and so she considered itself safe to retreat to the West wing. Lando greeted her with a letter as she reached her room, badgering Ophelia for a treat as she tried to settle in.

"Oh, sod off – here!" She fed the bird and unpacked her things, going to treat her dark mark with the spare Murtlap essence she'd picked up.

When she'd finished wrapping the wound, still sore even after weeks of healing, she stopped to examine the newly donned engagement ring. The sight of it was odd – she'd only seen older witches and wizards wear such things. Being of age did not console the young witch, in fact it only made her queasy thinking of what slimy pathetic bachelors had been waiting to pounce as soon as she had turned seventeen.

Eyeing the vial of Dreamless Sleep, she calculated what her odds were of being poisoned. She had no way of knowing if the potion had been laced and a quick sniff of it revealed nothing. The potion had no particular smell to it, or so she had learned from Professor Snape, so Ophelia sighed and took two gulps. She remembered her head of house advising his fifth-year potions classroom that it was unwise to take large amounts at one time, as the amount a use drank was equivalent to how long they slept. Praying for a few solid hours without interruption, Ophelia stripped herself down and settled into her four-poster bed.

It was the deepest, most peaceful sleep she had ever obtained.


	4. natus bestias

**natus bestias**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of Harry Potter or it's associated characters. I only own my OC, Ophelia, and her deceased mother.**

Cyrus had never accompanied Ophelia to the train station to board the Hogwart's Express. Neither of her parents ever had, as a matter of fact. All she remembered about her trips to and from King's Cross were town cars and limousines arriving to pick her up and drop her off from either location. It was nothing to complain about, but there was always a bothersome feeling in the pit of her stomach when she witnessed other students being escorted onto Platform 9¾ by their families. Generally, the best way to rid herself of it was by listening to Daphne gossip the whole ride up to Hogwarts, but this year's trip would be different.

Her father had only given her two sentences of 'advice' before her departure, none of which were comforting or heartwarming in the slightest.

"Behave yourself," Cyrus had hissed, grabbing her bicep so harshly that even ten minutes later she could already sense a bruise forming. "If I get a whiff of something amiss, I will assume you are not doing your job."

He was reminding her to play the part; to live up to their side of the agreement with Narcissa. It was also a hint at successful operations, as things would look less suspicious if she and Malfoy travelled in a pair.

"Failure is not an option." He took his other hand and placed it on the back of her neck, pinching the skin there until his daughter let out a grunt of pain.

Now safe from his clutches, Ophelia placed a hand on the back of her neck and winced at the tender skin, filing away such memories for the time being.

The driver quickly shifted to high speed as they exited the Selwyn grounds, heavy iron gates closing behind them. In a fashion similar to that of the Knight bus but with a little more grace, they were soon moving in the general direction of Malfoy manor. These fast-moving luxury cars were a privilege reserved for Ministry officials or for those who could afford the service, as an alternative to the public transit system that muggle cities offered.

The sixth-year normally wouldn't have minded sharing her ride, but Narcissa had not wanted to be seen at King's Cross and insisted on the two students travelling together. Not one to start up an argument over something so small, Ophelia had agreed and was now paying the price.

The limousine completed what would have normally been a one-and-a-half-hour drive in thirty minutes, arriving at the manor where Narcissa and her son were already waiting on the large stone steps. Ophelia did not exit the vehicle to greet them, instead choosing to hide behind the tinted windows. Talking to the other woman just reminded her of how futile it was to resist against the fate she'd been assigned and she did not want to spend her commute in a foul mood.

As the driver loaded his luggage into the trunk, Draco slipped into the car and onto the crisp leather seats, issuing a curt, "Selwyn."

In his black suit and mask of steel, he seemed to be a man made of metal. However, such a defense mechanism could only fool those who were blind enough not to see the reason behind it. She had all too much experience with that sort of shielding; he was not fooling her and moreover, had no reason to. There was nothing to hide when the secret was shared between them.

Ophelia eyed the boy behind her large designer sunglasses and made the effort to remain civil. "Malfoy."

She noted with a wince that both of them still donned their rings. It was not clear if they were required to wear them one hundred percent of the time, but she feared the worst at the thought of their removal. Punishment for the breakage of an unbreakable vow was lethal. If the rings had been sealed, it was better to play it safe.

His demeanour changed after hearing her speak. The cold, calculating look was replaced with a more worn out one as some of the weight fell off of his shoulders and he visibly relaxed, sinking into the cushions that lined the seats of the car.

In the hour it took to travel to central London, few words were spoken. Ophelia distracted herself by watching the scenery as it flew by, refusing to acknowledge the stares of her male classmate. She could feel him sizing her up, measures her strengths and weaknesses. Knowing what he knew now, there was no surprise that he was doing so. Still, it was difficult not to hex him into oblivion and after minutes of silent tension, Ophelia cracked.

"Stop it."

"What, I can't look at my fiancée?" Draco didn't miss a beat and she issued a snarl in response, upper lip curling in disgust.

His smirk revealed he was toying with her. Like her father, like their Dark Lord, like his parents. Succumbing to the anger was tempting, but it was easier to accept the inviting arms of silent malcontent. She would get her chance, but now was not the time. Keeping her cards close to her chest, she raised her chin and continued to stare at the divider that separated them from the driver.

"We need to find the other cabinet." She hadn't expected him to talk business, but yet there he sat in his fancy three-piece suit and his formal tone, speaking as though such a task was the easiest thing in the world.

"How do you suppose we do that?" Ophelia grimaced, finally eyeing him behind her shades.

He crossed one leg over the other and raised his brows in boredom, "I'm open to ideas."

 _Of course you are._ "Experienced a change of heart, have we?"

At first, he did not respond, lifting his sleeve to check the time on his watch. But after a moment, he leaned forward and lowered his tone to speak with her. "I know where it is."

Ophelia finally removed her sunglasses to stare at him, checking to see if she could poke any holes in his statement. From what she could deduce, he was telling the truth. What had thrown her off was the light dancing behind his eyes, as if he was excited about the task at hand. It made her sick, but she masked her ill contempt with avid curiosity.

Before she could inquire further, the limousine pulled out of hyper speed and came to a gentle stop, signalling their arrival at King's Cross. She would have to save her questions for later, as there were many and she was filled up to the brim with concerns.

Ophelia gracefully accepted the hand Draco offered her as they climbed out of the sleek black vehicle, sliding her sunglasses back on in a fruitful attempt at a disguise.

"You look like you've just stepped off a runway," Draco eyed her up and down critically as he let go of her hand, briefly noting her thigh high suede footwear. "Bloody Gucci boots? At King's Cross?"

She tried to hide a small smirk at the fact that he was able to correctly identify a muggle brand, but it was not unusual for pureblood families to extend their refined tastes. Besides, much of the fashion in Diagon Alley was very selective and outdated and different types of clothing were often sought out. The marvelous exchange rate between galleons and muggle currencies sealed the deal for much of the high class magical community. She hated to admit it, but she'd grown used to this sort of luxury living; wealth was addictive.

"They're comfortable," She shrugged and clutched her equally expensive handbag as their driver unloaded their luggage and placed it on a trolley.

Draco scoffed, but not in the malicious way Ophelia was accustomed to. "They're death traps, is what they are. It's entirely inappropriate wear for travel."

She ignored his opinion on her 'ill fashion choice' as they lead their driver to platform 9¾, purposely fortifying her steps so that the clicking sounds turned into sharp clacks. She had to admit, they made quite an intimidating pair looking the way they did, even as Draco continued to glare at her shoes. Attentive stares from the surrounding muggles grew thinner as they made their way to platform 9, waltzing through the hidden corridor without any falter in their step.

As soon as their driver had made his way through, Draco turned to her. "Take my arm."

Behind her tinted shades, she narrowed her eyes. It made sense to her; he wanted to reconstruct his image and he was going to use her as a stepping stone. Lips pressed in a thin line, Ophelia obeyed and took his arm, surprised by the tautness she felt under his jacket. She had not wanted to create a scene and after brief deliberation had decided that she didn't mind him riding on the wing of her family's influence until his own regained their footing. It made her feel as though she had control over something for the first time in her life. Malfoy was dependent on her to fix his own reputation, and the realization made her slightly giddy with power.

The driver loaded their luggage and the two separated from him, moving towards the usual Slytherin carriages. While many houses enjoyed to mingle before their arrival at Hogwarts, the house of Salazar preferred to stick with their own kind. Ophelia held no ill-will towards the other students, but their hatred towards her was a good enough reason to steer clear from the rest of the train compartments.

The two boarded and were immediately spotted by Blaise, who stopped in his tracks as soon as he spotted them together. "Selwyn?"

"Zabini." She replied coolly, lifting her sunglasses and placing them atop her wavy tresses. The Italian failed to hide his surprise, but recovered quickly and shot her a sly smile.

He led the two to a table already occupied by none other than Pansy Parkinson, whose attitude immediately shifted once she spotted the other girl. Visibly straightening, she greeted them all as they sat and pursed her lips in Ophelia's direction. The latter could feel Pansy's eyes roaming over her and chose not to meet her eyes, even when she dug through her bag to fix her light makeup. Pansy had grown her hair out over the last several months and her dull brown bob had turned into a sleek straight cut. Ophelia thought it fit her quite nicely, but she would never admit it to the other girl; Pansy had never been kind to anyone and she was quite possibly the most annoying woman Ophelia had ever encountered. She did not deserve niceties.

Hogwart's Express gave two shrill whistles as it pulled out of the station, speeding away from London and making a beeline for the hills of Scotland.

"So, how did you spend your summers?" Blaise broke the ice and avoided the topic of the quiet girl's presence.

Apparently, Draco had not wanted to skirt around this issue and lifted his left hand to reveal the silver band resting on his ring finger. Pansy blanched, eyes widening to the size of saucers while Blaise stared on in disbelief.

"You're engaged?!" The other girl practically shrieked, drawing the attention of several onlookers. "To who?!"

"Take a wild guess." Blaise grinned, jutting his chin towards Ophelia who was looking more and more uncomfortable as the seconds passed by.

In response to this, Draco reached over and grabbed her left wrist, holding it up so his friends could observe the matching piece of jewelry. She did not struggle against his hold, but she did shoot him a vicious stare.

"Well, congratulations you two," Ever so eager to egg Pansy on, Blaise continued. "That explains a lot. When is the wedding?"

Ophelia shot him a well-timed side eye, aware that the witch across from her was beginning to boil over with rage. Pansy had been taken with Draco since she'd been sorted into Slytherin, and she did not want to confront the heartbreak and anger that the pig-faced girl was going to be dealing with. Aside from the drama and cattiness that she knew she would have to deal with, she was relatively unprepared to give an explanation as to why she had become engaged.

Her fiancée lied on her behalf as he released her hand, "After graduation."

"Wait a second," Blaise leaned forward, examining their rings in suspicion. "These are Ministry issued – are they…"

"Set?" Draco finished the question his friend didn't have the guts to finish. "Yes."

Pansy had momentarily recovered from her blind fury and had leaned forward as well, lunging for her ex's finger and pouting when he pulled it away. "Set with what?"

"The Unbreakable vow." Ophelia spoke for the first time then, gauging the reaction of her housemates for a split second before turning her head to look at the scenery outside.

A teary-eyed Pansy excused herself from the table after a good minute of awkward silence, and Ophelia waited until the murmuring in the rest of the cabin had resumed. Whatever issues Pansy had with her present situation were of no concern to her; more pressing matters required her time and energy that held much more sinister threats than hexes being sent her way in between classes. Blaise shifted to sit near the window himself and resumed conversation with Draco, careful to avoid the topic of his parents as they talked of their holidays.

She surveyed the compartment, trying to find Daphne or her younger sister Astoria but failing to spot either of the two. The chatty witch was nowhere to be seen; perhaps she was chasing after another seventh year as she usually did within the first several weeks of school.

"Sleep, darling." Draco suddenly turned and assured her, a well-played sweetness coating his tone. It reminded her of Cyrus, and it made her sick how thick he was laying it on just for show. "I'll let you know when we've arrived."

Ignoring the pet name and restraining the urge to tell him to sod off was difficult, but she acknowledged her fatigue and pasted a small smile on her face before closing her eyes and leaning her head back on the cushioned seat. They talked quietly for a little and Ophelia let her head drop against the wall minutes later, hoping the act would fool them enough to begin speaking more openly. Finally, after about ten minutes they were convinced that she was asleep and gave her the opportunity to eavesdrop.

"Obedient little thing, isn't she?" Blaise murmured, and Ophelia's heart rate picked up in response. _Rude prick._

"Don't be too hasty with such judgement calls, my friend." To her utter shock, Draco jumped to her defense, though she could not have been certain if he was aware of her listening in on them.

If he was truly unaware, it meant she would need to do some revaluation of his personality. She wasn't sure what was more confusing; his defense of someone who had been accused of something or the fact that he had actually stuck up for a woman. He had never been known as a great equalist in any sense of the word and this behavior did not fit into his usual schema.

"How the hell did you manage to lock her into a contract? Nearly everyone's applied for her. I'd do anything for that bloody house."

Her suspicions were confirmed and she'd heard enough, but Blaise rattled on like a broken record.

"Mate, you don't understand – everyone wanted her. She's loaded, she's fit and her Dad is…you remember who he is, yeah?"

"I'm well aware, Blaise." Draco sounded rather put out, which was curious considering this was an opportunity for him to gloat about how lucky he'd gotten.

Ophelia had known that she was an asset for many families, but the Malfoys were one of the wealthiest and had once held much influence, especially in the Ministry. Lucius and her father had worked together for years, both in and out of the Dark Lord's circle. It made the two families such perfect candidates for one another that Ophelia nearly kicked herself for not having foreseen the match before. There were little to no other females her age with such incredible wealth, familial power and dark ties than she, and everyone knew of the Malfoys and their purist ways. Their affluence did not disappear along with Lucius, and Narcissa's pleas to Cyrus had finalized the deal that had made sense from the get-go.

"So how did -" She had to thank Merlin for what happened next, as it saved Draco from having to come up with a convincing story as to the exact terms and conditions of their arranged marriage.

A large bang burst through the cabin, giving Ophelia an excuse to open her eyes only to find thick blue smoke blocking her vision and clogging the rest of her senses. Startled shouts and shrill screams bounced off the walls in the moving compartment, only settling down once the smoke had started to clear.

"What was that?" Draco had stood and was pacing between the rows, looking for the source of the distraction.

Ophelia coughed, waving the air around her face to try and get a breath of fresh hair and identifying the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes product immediately. "Smoke bomb. Sodding hell."

After the windows were opened the compartment cleared out and the boys returned to their seats, eyeing the space around them as if whatever jokester had done this was going to jump out and confess. The blonde beside her seemed more jittery than usual.

"Calm yourselves," She assured, pulling out one of the books she had brought along to read. "We'll be at the castle soon – I doubt it'll happen again."

"I don't think I'll last another two years at Hogwarts." Draco grumbled in response, crossing his arms and leaning back against the soft plush seats.

The sole woman in their seating arrangement eyed him oddly, trying to decipher if there was any underlying message in what he was saying besides the obvious. Blaise was also scrutinizing his pale friend, calculating the changes that had taken place over the holidays. Ophelia didn't know how well the two knew each other, but she reckoned they had a close enough relationship that the dark-skinned boy noticed that something was different about the little ferret. She briefly wondered if Draco was stupid enough to confide in anyone, even if they claimed a close relationship.

The snack trolley came by several times, but she had no appetite and refused each time she was offered something from either of her classmates. If she was going to eat at all today, it wouldn't be rubbish that would rot her teeth.

Several hours later the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, hissing loudly until it came to a rolling stop at the end of the platform. Ophelia spotted Hagrid holding a large lantern and Fang, for whom she'd always held a soft spot. The big dog began to bark as students made their way out of the train and the girl let a small smile slip for the overgrown boarhound, content with the sense of familiarity and warmth that the dog brought her.

"You two go, I want to check on something." Draco's breezy tone boke her from the peaceful bubble she'd built herself, and she turned to find a peculiar look etched into his features as he gazed her way.

Gulping heavily, she passed by him as he let her exit the compartment and shimmied out after Blaise, sufficiently creeped out with the amount of staring he'd been doing lately. It unsettled her even more knowing that he'd gotten a good look inside her mind, as having a carbon copy of one's own thoughts and inner secrets was quite possibly the deadliest disadvantage ever. She had no other choice than to put her faith in him and pray that he did not give her away.

The two Slytherins emerged from the locomotive and began to head towards the carriages, but Ophelia hung back when they caught up with Hagrid and Fang.

"I'm going to wait for him." She announced, thankful for the excuse as Blaise left her.

She waited until the boy was out of earshot before walking up to Hagrid and giving the half-giant a tiny smile. It was clear how he felt about her; almost all of the Hogwarts staff aside from a select few were tentative to engage with her. "Hagrid."

"Miss Selwyn," The groundskeeper looked a little nervous to see her, but relaxed visibly once she knelt down to greet Fang.

She let the dog to approach and sniff her before he began to bark happily, causing a tinkling laugh to slip out of her throat. "Hello, beautiful. I've got something for you."

Pulling open her purse, she fished out some large treats and held them out in an open palm, letting him slobber all over her dainty fingers as he happily devoured the biscuits. Two more and her hand was absolutely drenched in spit, forcing her to cast a cleaning charm as she chuckled and began to caress the dog. Animals had always made her happy. The logic that creatures used was not comparable to the rules and standards that wizards lived by; there were no classes, no prejudices. Just pure carnal instincts. She had always hated keeping pets, as it constricted their freedom. It was why she had nearly burst into tears when her mother had brought Lando home.

"What on earth are you doing with that filthy mongrel?" The familiar drawl caused her shoulders to droop, but she did not turn to greet her fiancée. She was slowly getting used to that word, though sometimes it still made her shudder.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She shot back, scratching under Fang's ears and laughing when the dog closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure.

Draco's footsteps grew closer until she felt him stand beside her. She felt the pressure he was trying to inflict, but did not break from giving the animal her full attention and affection. Hagrid had moved to speak with Professor Flitwick, who was gathering up final stragglers and taking down names. It appeared the school's security had increased tenfold with the resent disturbing shifts in the wizarding world.

Fang gave her right hand a long, wet lick and tilted his head into her caress, looking her straight in the eye.

"It looks like you're getting your hands dirty." Draco urged, but did not move to stop her. Something was lacking in his tone. Animosity, perhaps? How peculiar.

She rose when she felt like it and gave Fang another pat on the head for good measure before leading Draco down the trail to the gates of the castle. It was a silent walk, and Ophelia took the time to cast yet another cleaning charm and apply more of Madame Primpernelle's 'Positively Pleasant Peach Perfume'. Even if the boy following closely behind her had not approved of her actions, he said nothing of it as they reached the large gates and gave one of the Aurors both of their names.

"This is pathetic."

She didn't reply to him, but she had to admit the school's effort towards extra security was a bit absurd. Protective wards aside, it was not much of an effort to have Flitwick – the least intimidating Professor of all time – and three measly Aurors taking names from hundreds of students.

The two were allowed to pass and Draco moved to inspect his luggage, wanting to ensure no damage had been done to its contents. They were quickly stopped by Mr. Filch, who had plucked Lucius' walking stick and wand holster from the pile and was examining it closely.

"What's this cane here, then?" He held it out to Draco, identifying the object as his.

Obviously insulted, Draco snatched it from his hands. "It's not a cane, you cretin! It's a walking stick."

"And what exactly will you be doing with it?" Filch leered, craning his head and growling at the boy. If it was coercion he was hoping for it was a laughable attempt, because the blonde towered over the squib and did not seemed alarmed in the slightest. "It could be construed as an offensive weapon."

"It's quite alright, Mr. Filch, I can vouch for Mr. Malfoy." Severus Snape was upon them in seconds, emerging from the shadows in his all-black ensemble. Ophelia looked up at her head of house as he bore down on the two of them, only meeting his gaze for a split second.

Instantly, her walls went up and the shroud of Occlumency protected her. She was aware that Snape was well versed in both Legillimency and its sister practice, so Ophelia took no chances in shielding herself against a possible attack. She had held her own against the Dark Lord – it would have been shocking if she could not keep Severus Snape out of her head.

The four turned at the arrival of two more students, Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood. The former of the two had a nose that looked slightly bent, as if he'd run into a wall and it had turned sideways. Blood had begun to crust on his upper lip, and he was glaring at the two Slytherins with such malcontent that Ophelia was ready to ask what his problem was. Draco beat her to the punch.

"Nice face, Potter."

He turned to her and motioned for them to go, taking off down the path that would lead them to the castle. There were no more carriages left and so they were forced to walk, but Ophelia didn't mind the fast-paced stroll. The smell of the woods surrounding the school calmed her, allowing for a more peaceful frame of mind. Here, she could at least get a taste of what it was like to be somewhat free.

She watched Draco out of the corner of her eye as they walked, eyes flitting to his father's walking stick clutched in his right hand. It was likely one of the only things Lucius had left behind and it was clear that his son valued it very highly. He had not shown any sign of embarrassment or shame about his family name, though it was clear he recognized the importance of image reconstruction. With a start, Ophelia found herself wondering if it was possible that he actually believed they could carry out the task they'd been assigned.

"Tell me about this vanishing cabinet," She spoke lowly, glancing behind her to ensure that no one was close by. "What do you mean you know where it is?"

Draco, after a panicked look tossed her way, checked behind him as well before beginning to explain, "Last year, Montague apparated out of one of the cabinets after those moronic Weasley twins tried to stuff him inside. Found him in some toilet's u-bend. He told me they moved it to the Room of Hidden Things, but he didn't know how it worked."

Ophelia looked up in shock, gears turning in her head. "We need the instructions."

"We need to find it first," Draco reminded her, glancing behind them again for good measure. "And we shouldn't be talking about it here, for crying out loud."

Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when she realized that it was actually possible to get out of this whole mess alive, with the task complete and no casualties. If they were careful with their execution, they could also have a chance of going relatively unnoticed.

"Show me the book you were reading." It was not in Draco's nature to be particularly curious, but apparently he was interested in the literature she'd chosen to bring along.

Still, she did not appreciate his demand. "A please would be nice."

He shot her a frown and she returned it with a glare before reaching into her bag and took out _Occlumency: Advanced Fifth Edition_ _for Practitioners_. He took it from her hands and did not slow his pace while he paged through it, giving it back to her once he'd reached the appendix. "Have you practiced any Legillimency?"

She really didn't want to make small talk, but given their current standing and the fact that she was basically being forced to trust him, she caved. There was no point in keeping secrets when he knew all of them. "No. I don't see the point in it; I have no interest in others' confidential information."

"We'll have to work on that." He murmured as they reached the castle, and Ophelia faltered in her step before trotting to catch up with him. Such arrogance would take awhile to get used to. He needed to remember his place and his own weaknesses.

"I don't think that will be necessary," They headed to their quarters to change into her robes, wary of the echoes their voices made in the large hallways of the dungeons. "I'm more than capable of protecting myself with what I've learned."

Draco stopped her by grabbing her free arm, pulling her close once more. "You don't understand yet, do you? _We_ ," he motioned between them, breaths intertwining. "work together. We need any advantage we can get."

Ophelia ripped her arm from his grasp and fixed him with a scowl, sparking a different reaction in him than the one she'd hoped for. He smirked, gaining on her until she was obliged to look up towards him.

"You know Selwyn, you're not as frightening as you think you are."

"That's easy for you to say when you've gotten a good look inside my head." She seethed, shoving his chest and forcing him to take a step back.

Before he could respond she rushed to the sixth-year female dormitories, quickly locating her luggage and casting a charm to clear her bed of whatever hexes were likely already planted there. She changed out of her clothes in a blur, furious that Draco was making her feel this way. He had his own problems to work on – she was confident in her abilities and she hated the fact that her housemate was ignorant enough to assume that he was more versed in such skills than she. After all, he'd attacked her mind when she'd been heavily weakened; he should have known better than to make such grandiose assumptions.

"Little blonde prat." She spat as she fixed her hair and rolled her skirt up, hiking it until it rested mid-thigh.

Robes were thrown on and hid the dark mark from view, much to her relief. She'd been concerned about the sleeves covering enough from prying eyes, but they managed to sit low enough that she could operate comfortably without exposing her secret. Boots were exchanged for oxford pumps and she scampered back downstairs only to find Malfoy waiting, checking his watch with a look of exasperation.

"It took you ten minutes and forty-three seconds to do something I got done in three."

"You didn't have to wait for me." Ophelia stalked out of the common room, containing her anger and morphing it into energy. She noted with glee that it was he who had trouble keeping up with her this time.

When they breached the great hall, she was tempted to go looking for Daphne yet again, but was coerced to keep walking by Draco's hand on her lower back. She was pushed, really, to sit between Blaise and her manhandling counterpart, which she did unhappily. A still-very-put-out Pansy was sitting quite far away from the group, she noted, which included Nott, Crabbe and Goyle. The last two had somehow grown even uglier over the course of the summer holidays, but that did not stop them from staring at her in dull awe as she settled.

"Boys – my fiancée, Ophelia." Draco introduced her as he would a trophy, albeit in a rather serious tone.

Theodore choked on his soup.

"Newest addition," Blaise wrapped an arm around Ophelia's shoulder and smirked all around, gloating at the stares that soon travelled up and down the table. Pansy and her fat mouth had been hard at work. "Isn't she lovely?"

"Of course she is, so take your hands off her." Draco swatted his friend away, grasping at Ophelia's waist to get her closer to him. It seemed Narcissa's plan had not been far-fetched at all, because any looks of ill-respect were soon replaced with shock and fascination.

She was sure this was part of his act, and being tossed around like a quaffle was very unpleasant. Still she sat silent, casting smiles where smiles were due and making small talk with Blaise and Theo about their summers. There was a job to do, and she was more than goal-orientated if it meant staying safe. Even if her father was not here in the castle with her, she still felt like he watched her every move and was able to detect when she did something wrong. It was a whole different kind of hell to live in.

"'Phee!" Daphne's coo was a welcome distraction for Ophelia, who turned to find the girl already halfway to embracing her in a hug.

"Hi love," She returned the gesture and made room for her friend, scooting Blaise out of the way as the two caught up. Making up lies about her summer was not difficult, but explaining why she and Malfoy was engaged was a whole other ball game.

The sorting hat interrupted any line of questioning that was soon to take place and begun its welcoming song, howling about uniting in the face of enemies and being brave in troubling times. The first years had already been sorted and were listening attentively, momentarily distracted from the feast. The same could be said for Ophelia. While Draco had taken few bites of food, she could not bring herself to eat and did not find anything to tempt her appetite. She settled on tea and waited to see how it would sit with her stomach; if she ate something at the moment she would certainly puke and just looking at all the food was giving her nausea.

After a brief pause for dessert, in which Draco was slammed with questions to which he did not answer and Ophelia had to fight off the murderous stares of several girls, Dumbledore took his place at the alter.

The world slowed as she focused on the old man. This was the great wizard she had been instructed to bring down. It was entirely surreal, being one of the two people in the entire hall who knew the fate of the school's headmaster. Perhaps their Dark Lord was not so incorrect in having assigned them this task; perhaps they were ready. They had the resources to ensure they were not alone in their execution, and they were clever enough. After all, two heads working together had a better chance at winning over one. Indeed, it was very possible that this could work, Ophelia thought as she brought herself back to the present and forced herself to listen to Dumbledore's speech.

Horace Slughorn would replace Snape as potions master for the year, which was entirely irrelevant to her as she was not taking potions, but some good news came out of the old codger's mouth; Snape would finally be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Slytherin table erupted in cheers, whistles and shouts of joy at the fact and Ophelia did her best to blend in with some delicate clapping. Draco, on the other hand, sat in a somber silence.

Dumbledore raised his arms to silence the hall and continue, at which point his sleeve fell back to reveal a ghastly blackness that coated his hand. Whispers erupted and the headmaster assured the school all was well, but it was obvious the condition was serious if Madame Pomfrey had not been able to fix it yet. Ophelia stored the information in the back of her head for later analyzation, unable to make clear sense of it for the time being.

Greetings were issued for new and returning students, and Ophelia tuned out again as the usual array of announcements were made. Quidditch tryouts, bans on Weasley products, forbidden corridors – none of it concerned her. What did interest her was when the man paused for a moment to rub the tips of his fingers together in what seemed to be consternation.

"Now, as everybody in this hall knows," He began, unfaltering in his speech. "Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining strength."

Ophelia glanced at Draco, who was busy levitating a fork and ignoring Dumbledore entirely. Frustrated, the witch snatched the fork out of midair and jutted her chin out towards their headmaster. This information pertained to them; it was foolish of Draco not to gather as much of it as possible. The blonde frowned in her direction, but heeded to her directions.

The silence and tension in the hall grew tighter, sliced thin by Dumbledore's next words. "I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. We have fortified much of the castle over the summer and are protected in powerful ways, but we must continue to abide by restrictions and report any suspicious behavior. I trust you to take care of your own and each other's safety."

With such a serious speech one would have expected the man to lighten the mood afterwards, but Dumbledore merely sent them off to bed with a 'pip-pip' and a shooing motion. Ophelia, having had enough of him already, rose with the hundreds of other students to retreat back to the common rooms. She was more than ready to exit the room her first victim was in, but Draco hadn't risen yet and as much as she hated herself for doing so, she paused.

Theoretically, it was his job to lead the first years back to their chambers - he was a prefect after all - but Pansy had already jumped at the opportunity to boss a group of scared underlings around and was busy leading them out of the great hall. Even Daphne had made her way out with the promise of interrogating Ophelia later in their chambers.

"Come on." She urged, ready to leave Draco behind if he didn't comply.

He stood a moment later and followed her out, looking more shell-shocked than ever. If Ophelia hadn't known any better she would have assumed the seventeen-year-old male was bipolar. He didn't say a word until they had returned to the dungeons, and when he did speak it was in a hushed tone that required straining her ears to hear.

"We'll start a week from now, at the room of requirement."

"Why a week?" She argued, unwilling to accept his authority over their case so easily even if his proposed plan made sense. A week would give enough distractions so they could slip by unnoticed, but starting sooner granted them more time. "Why not tomorrow?"

Draco checked down both ends of the corridor to make sure it was clear, and pulled her into an alcove. "Are you really this daft? Or do you take pleasure in fraying my nerves?"

Rolling her eyes, the black-haired beauty conceded, "Fine, a week."

He didn't stop her as she turned heel and waltzed off, but he caught the way she fiddled with her engagement ring absentmindedly as she walked.


	5. nemo malus felix

**nemo malus felix**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of Harry Potter or it's associated characters. I only own my OC, Ophelia, and her deceased mother.**  
 **  
**"You're late. And why have you not taken potions?"

The glare she sent Draco was so harsh that if looks could kill, he would be tied to one of the roof beams by his testicles, choking on his own intestines. "I don't see how the classes I choose to take are any of your concern."

The truth was that potions had never truly fascinated her and she had wanted to keep her distance from him as far as possible, but this was none of his business.

"That doesn't excuse your tardiness." The blonde chastised, and Ophelia was briefly reminded of how her father had snapped at her for the same thing not so long ago.

The first week of classes had gone by rapidly, or perhaps she was just imagining it. She had signed up for N.E.W.T level Arithmancy, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Charms, but refused to continue with potions. She had little fascination with it and did not enjoy experimenting with dangerous substances when she was not able to calculate every possible outcome. Seamus Finnigan's multiple incidents were proof enough that potions brought out the worst in some students.

Daphne had not prodded at her engagement after she'd been given a rubbish story, and it seemed like she sensed the way her 'friend' was trying to distance herself. It was one of the things Ophelia truly valued about her; Daphne knew when to back off, and in these times such a trait was very self-preserving.

"I'm here now, your excellency." She mocked, waiting for him to take the lead and praying for an end to his questioning.

Draco frowned at her antics, but seemed too worn out to respond with his own sharp wit at the moment and chose not to fight back. He led her to the seventh floor, bypassing the Hall of Hexes to reach the tapestry on the wall that depicted Barnabas the Barmy teaching several trolls ballet. Ophelia had never visited the room of requirement and looked towards her partner in question, trying to understand how the giant work of art could possibly lead them to what they were looking for.

He explained by pacing three times in front of the wall, and waiting until a soft groaning could be heard. To Ophelia's complete astonishment, after a mere couple of seconds he lifted the tapestry to reveal that a doorway had formed, complete with two large brass knockers and large iron detailing. She let her mouth fall open in awe, reaching forward to push the wood until the room revealed itself to her.

Objects of every shape and size, piles of them, spanned across the length of an elephantine room. The ceilings towered higher than what she thought possible in an effort to contain the sheer number of things that were resting inside of the hall. Towers of desks, chairs and other furniture rose up like mountains before her, teetering ever so slightly when Draco slammed the door shut behind them. Even he could not distract her as she wondered of the time it would possibly take to comb through all of these artifacts and ancient tools. Everything from books to jars full of samples and icky insects, cloaks and hats, trunks and cannons, laid before her. It was a maze of what seemed to be everything that anyone would possibly ever need, along with some precious forgotten items that would likely never see the light of day again. She wasn't used to looking at so many things clumped into one space like this; at Selwyn manor everything was tidy and neat and while there was much of it, it was spaced out properly. Here, it was entirely overwhelming and quite stressful to look at.

"You've never been in the room of requirement before, have you?" Draco shook her out of her reverie with his inquisition, and she finally removed her milky doe eyes from the amassment of things to shake her head in confirmation.

"Don't get lost." He prompted and took off without another word, leaving her on her own.

 _Arse._

Ophelia snorted, happy to be left to her own devices. The task was simple, but the sheer size of the room she was in and the amount of rubbish she would have to sort through made it very difficult. Splitting up actually worked to their advantage, as they would be able to cover more room in less time. It was also fortunate that the vanishing cabinet was rather large in and of itself and had a distinct shape to it. The triangular top proved itself most useful, as it only took an hour and a half for Draco to locate it and signal Ophelia over with red flares.

In the far-right corner of an ornate carpet lay the object, fitted with the same ancient runes and dark markings that its sister bore. It was slightly darker than its counterpart, and although no physical damage could be seen Ophelia was certain that this was the cabinet that would need repairing. If it wasn't, Mr. Borgin would have a fair bit of explaining to do, possibly at the expense of his tongue; Greyback wasn't the only one who enjoyed mutilating his victims.

Ophelia shuddered at the thought of the gruesome mutant. Ridding herself of the thought of him, she moved forward and placed a hand on the wood. Running her fingers across the inscriptions was calming, even when Draco pulled a bright green apple from his pocket and began bouncing it in the palm of his hand. She opened the door of the cabinet, wiping away any dust that was visible and examining the inside chamber. _Large enough to fit a person…_

The crinkling sound of paper made her turn, only to see him unfold a letter and hold it out to her.

"Repairs," She breathed, looking over the messy scrawl. Narcissa had likely retrieved it from Borgin and had sent it to Draco in an effort to save on time.

The boy in question took a large bite out of his apple as she read, the crunch echoing in the space they had settled in. He watched her read carefully, observing as her eyes grew wider with wonder by the second. "So…we need to reset this connection?"

He nodded, confirming her clarification. She frowned; he seemed all too calm and put together, and it was unsettling. As if he could read her mind, he took three slow steps towards her, handing her the apple and taking back the letter before approaching the cabinet himself. He surveyed the objects around him and grasped a nearby piece of china, placing the object in the middle of the artifact and shutting the door.

"Harmonia Nectere Passus."

A small sound emitted from the chamber inside, but a brief glance revealed that the china had not moved. Not having expected perfection Draco tried again, only to discover that in addition to the china not having moved, this time around the chamber had stayed completely silent.

"Let me try." Ophelia shoved the apple back into his hands, but not before she took a bite herself. The sourness coated her taste buds and made her shiver in delight, and she took extra pleasure in slamming the fruit bite-side-down into Draco's hand and watching his facial features contort in disgust.

To her complete and utter exasperation, her spells had just as little effect as Draco's. No matter which object they placed inside the wretched thing, it would not give them what they wanted. It was uniquely frustrating, especially since no other repair charm existed for the cabinet aside from the one they had been told to repeatedly use. At one point, Ophelia tried placing the carcass of a mouse she'd found on the floor into the cabinet, its only success being that it made the artifact stink much more for at least a week.

This pattern repeated itself for months. September blended into October, and absolutely nothing was going their way. It was making Draco positively irate and driving Ophelia mad. They took to working in shifts, allowing one to sleep, relax or work for several hours while the other tried their best to recite the repair spell as many times as possible to restore the connection between the two cabinets.

Towards the beginning of their operation it was easier to keep up with schoolwork and sleep. Even eating had not become too much of an issue up until Halloween, but the mind-numbing, repetitive work was slowly taking its toll. Prefect and school duties were ignored, friends began to show concern and sleeping became less of a priority and more of an unfortunate side effect. At one point, during their sixth week of trying to repair the damned thing, Draco had turned to find Ophelia passed out on her Arithmancy textbook after trying to catch up on assignments that were creeping up on her.

The weight of the situation was easier to handle between the two of them, but the two did not speak. Ophelia, still put off by the fact that he had taken advantage of her and looked inside of her head when she'd been weak, continued to put her pride on a pedestal and walked the fine line between hostility and general discontent. Draco, having compartmentalized his feelings so much so that he had just about shut off from the rest of the world, was not able to communicate and did not make any effort to do so. Both were still incredibly perturbed by their parents' decision and the unbreakable contract between them, which made the general attitude uncomfortable and tense.

By the end of November, with no progress made and much less sanity than they'd started with, their concern was mounting. Snowfall indicated that Christmas holidays were not far away, and the two were both going home for the two weeks of celebration.

"This isn't working." Ophelia admitted on her twentieth attempt one night, fed up with the consistent failures.

Draco had been wide awake, lounging on the couch with his feet up as he uttered a sarcastic reply. "What do you suggest we do?"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought through plan B to Z." She confronted, replacing the book that was resting in the cabinet with an old chalice and trying the incantation again.

When he said nothing, she grew wary. It was not unlike him to stay silent, but he always had a response loaded when it came to their mission. "Draco?"

Instantly, grey irises met brown and he frowned, but the expression vanished a second later. He remained quiet, rendering her frustration to grow until she couldn't hold it in any longer. Three more failed attempts later, she took the chalice and chucked it across the large room as hard as she could. The clash and resounding echo took minutes to fade, granting her time to sit with her heavy breaths and thoughts.

Seeing nothing but red, Ophelia spun and kicked a nearby dresser, letting out a furious cry as she did so. The furniture only let out a thump in response and teetered slightly, but remained put.

She did not want to die.

If Albus Dumbledore did not fall, it would be her. Whether at the hands of her father or Voldemort himself, she considered it particularly sick of fate if it intended to cut her life off so short. She needed a solution; _they_ needed a solution.

"Why don't you rest?" Draco had risen from the couch and approached her, causing her to flip on him in suspicion.

"Why?" She hissed, ignore her throbbing toe in favor of stalking past him to retrieve a galleon and place it in the cabinet. "Got any better ideas?"

Ophelia could hear his footsteps close in on her and she fought to contain the fear that accompanied such situations. Aside from the number Cyrus had done on her reflexes, having someone stand behind her was just generally discomforting. "I have several, but you're no use to me in a fit."

"I recall you once saying we were a team, Malfoy." She bristled at his words and tried to recite the incantation, but a hand on her wrist stopped her and she froze.

"Go sleep, Ophelia." His suggestion sounded as if it came out of exhaustion more than kindness, but the use of her name halted any angry reply she'd had ready to fire.

Searching his eyes, she found no trace of malcontent or ill-will, but it did not mean that he wasn't hiding anything. Her exhaustion taunted her to listen to him and rest her mind, but the paranoia sitting in the back of her skull was not easily tamed. Why had he used her first name?

With a last huff she conceded once more that it would be incredibly stupid of him not to consult her before doing something that could endanger both of them, and flopped onto the couch. It only took seconds of fighting against her heavy eyelids closing for her to succumb to sleep, Draco's silvery hair growing blurrier as she went.

He had been truthful to her, as when she woke she found a brown package – identical to the one she'd seen him carry out of Borgin and Burkes months ago – sitting on the floor waiting for her.

This was how their secondary plan came to be.

Although the option was not ideal, it was worth it to try, and putting their own survival above the well-being of others was a way of life the two were very familiar with. It was the Slytherin way.

Ophelia had not expected her first unforgivable charm to go as smoothly as it did. Casting it was almost too easy and Katie Bell, the unlucky soul who had wandered into the female lavatory at that moment, was a fantastic guinea pig. Eyes glazed over, she had taken the cursed necklace from the bathroom sink where an equally Imperio-ed Madame Rosmerta had placed it, and begun her trip to the castle intent on delivering the object to Dumbledore. Ophelia had slipped from the stall and out of the three broomsticks as fast as light, hoping to Merlin that Draco had successfully released Rosmerta from her curse without any side effects. They had decided that two separate spell castings would be most effective, as they were uncertain of Rosmerta's spellcasting experience. In retrospect, it was their own skills they should have been more critical of.

She and Draco tailed the two carefully, watching Katie and her friend from a distance. They seemed to be arguing, but before Ophelia could prick up her ears to try and hear what they were saying, her fiancée grabbed her by the wrist and stopped her. Three figures made themselves clear on the path ahead of them, separating them from the two girls they had been stalking. They seemed to have come out of an adjacent path leading elsewhere into the village, cutting them off completely.

"Potter." Was all Draco uttered before moving them in the opposite direction of the Golden trio, panic written clear across his face. They would not be able to continue following the two girls without arousing any suspicion, especially considering the rapport Draco had with the three.

The wind picked up as they walked back into Hogsmeade and they darted into the first shop they saw. Safe from the whirling snow, Ophelia tightened her fur coat and adjusted the oversized cashmere scarf that was wrapped around her neck to hide her shivers. Her heart pounded furiously against her ribcage as she tried to blend in with the other shopkeepers and examined some jewelry near the exit, watching from the corner of her eye as Draco did the same.

It took several minutes to build up the courage to leave, and when they did the roads were completely clear. The rest of the day was spent in an anxious silence, awaiting any word in the common room from their head of house.

Ophelia didn't know exactly what she was waiting for; if their plan had indeed gone off without a hitch and Dumbledore was dead, they had no clue as to how the staff would handle it. Still they waited, watching the flames of the fireplace lick each other and crackle every once in awhile. It felt like one of the longest nights Ophelia had ever had to wait through, with the exception of her visit to Malfoy manor. When morning came around and no word had come, she began to fear the worst.

They made their way down to the great hall, only intent on digesting information, and within ten minutes of their presence at the table they had gotten it. Word travelled fast.

"All I heard was 'Katie Bell', 'necklace' and 'cursed'." Theo reported, sipping on his pumpkin juice. He'd apparently overheard some Hufflepuffs discussing the case at the neighbouring table during supper last evening and was keen to discuss it with his housemates.

Ophelia's heart all but stopped. She managed to play off the shock, hiding a grimace of pain when she bit her tongue rather roughly due to his comment. Had something been wrong with her spell? Or had Katie's friend managed to get in the way? The most likely option was that Katie had likely broken free from the hold of the weak Imperio and grown curious, but the more pressing matter was whether or not the girl had any recollection of the spell being cast on her.

Blaise set down his spoon of oatmeal, narrowing his eyes. "How did that little prude get her hands on a cursed necklace?"

"Doesn't matter how, she's at St. Mungo's out like a light." The brunette boy replied, digging further into his yogurt.

The two turned to Draco, hoping for input. The blonde feigned ignorance and dismissed the case as if it was nothing more than a skeevey article from the Daily Prophet, polishing it off with some lowly insult directed towards the house of Helga. Snickers rang out, echoing in Ophelia's head as the two retreated back to the room of requirement. She boxed them off and gave them more room in her overstuffed brain, once more resorting to Occlumency to clear her mind of the clutter. Ignoring the thoughts and emotions was priceless, especially now in her heightened state of paranoia.

Half expecting to have teachers pounce her at every corner, Ophelia was all too happy to be back in the room of requirement despite having Draco in tow.

"What in the bloody fuck did you do?" He turned on her as soon as the door was shut, unafraid to close in on her.

"Nothing!" Immediately, she jumped to the defensive and began to shout back, horribly offended that he would have asked such a thing. "My casting is just as good as yours, if not better! I didn't fuck up a thing!"

"Someone must have, because she wasn't supposed to bloody touch the thing!" He roared, decibels increasing until they sparked her reflexes. She hated reacting in such a way, but when her father rose to such a tone it only meant worse punishment and she had been conditioned to protect herself.

To her utter humiliation she flinched and winced horribly before taking a step back. "I can't afford to make mistakes. I don't know what happened, but I didn't do a damned thing wrong."

Malfoy stopped, perplexed by her reaction. So far, he'd been accustomed to her hostility. Unsure of how to deal with the meager reaction he opened his mouth as if to interrogate her further, but then stopped, shook his head and stalked off in the direction of the cabinet.

It took her a second, but Ophelia was able to gather herself and gave herself a couple of slaps for good measure, willing her body to obey her mind as she sullenly followed him through the mountains of rubbish.

He didn't bring it up again. If he was upset about it, it certainly did not show. They continued their repairing efforts, falling back into the cycle they'd grown familiar with over time. The little area they had built themselves grew messier each day, filling with blankets, books and spare parchments. More effort was spent on reciting the incantation than ever and even Daphne had taken the time out of her day to try and get Ophelia to eat something after noticing significant weight loss.

"You're tiny, 'Phee," She had noted over breakfast one morning, nudging a piece of toast her way. "here, have this."

Begrudgingly, Ophelia had muttered something about a new diet and taken the bread, assuring her friend that everything was alright and that her isolation was a result of schoolwork stress. Her lies were ripping apart at the seams, but she was in too deep to allow the walls to fall. Even Draco had lost weight, sharp cheekbones defining themselves even more so as the weeks passed. She took to watching him as the two switched shifts, paying attention to the way his hands trembled with a lack of energy and the way he would teeter dangerously when he rose from a seated position. Once more, she was reminded of the way her father had prepared her for such a lifestyle; she had been conditioned to live in such a state of pressure, but Draco was beginning to crack.

Then, out of the blue, a tiny leap of progress was made.

A green apple he had placed in the cabinet managed to disappear. It took two incantations to summon it back, but when it did return, a bite had been taken out of it. The two stood in stunned silence, baffled that their work had actually paid off. It was the first real sign of anything going their way. Actual, tangible evidence that it would be possible for them to complete the seemingly impossible task laid out for them. In light of such luck, they celebrated with renewed vigorous efforts and 'Harmonia Nectere Passus' became such a common phrase to Ophelia that she started to hear it in her classes and in her dreams. She had never experienced auditory hallucinations before, but she was certain it was due to the lack of nutrition and rest her body was suffering. Still, she trudged on, refusing to crumble under the stress.

They plateaued again, cabinet refusing to bend to their will. No matter what they shoved inside the dreaded cupboard it would come back horribly bent out of shape, just like its sister residing in Mr. Borgin's shop. Books would come back torn in half, chalices missing jewels, coins flattened and warped, and one lamp they had sent off had not come back at all. The limbo in between the cupboards was the most terrifying part of all of it.

She tried to rest, but no matter how much she tossed and turned she could not get comfortable. Dreamless sleep was rationed between the two of them and though Draco claimed he was able to brew more, Ophelia considered it a waste of time to expend energy on anything other than repairs. Days blended into one another. Food was sparse, and it was agreed upon that whoever was not actively reciting the incantations would focus on study assignments. Ophelia handled Arithmancy and Charms, while Draco took D.A.D.A and Transfiguration. He had all but abandoned potions, although he occasionally showed up to Slughorn's class.

One night, after exiting the room with absolutely no energy left between either of them, the two had been caught by their head of house.

Snape had been livid, and Ophelia did not understand why until he'd dragged them into an empty classroom, cast a silencing charm and fixed them with a dark glare. It was then that the pieces of the puzzle connected themselves and revealed exactly why her father had chosen to send her to Hogwarts so many years ago.

"Sneaking around like you've got something to hide is not helping either of you," He'd sneered, hands on either side of a desk. "Consider yourselves lucky Bell managed to survive."

Ophelia frowned, piecing together the clues until the whole picture made sense. Severus had always been a hostile oddball of sorts, but he had never dropped any clues of being entangled with the Dark Lord. Now, it was painfully clear that he was aware of their operations and furthermore, he did not seem to be set against them. It would have been appreciated if her father had let her know that an ally was also hiding behind the castle walls, but she could not find it in herself to be annoyed with Cyrus when she expected so little help from him.

"Sir?" She tried to clarify, fishing for more information.

Severus turned to her, dark eyes narrowing. "Allow me to assist you. Clearly, your own efforts are proving quite miserable."

"It was my fault, sir," She admitted, taking the fall even though she was uncertain of whether or not Bell's brush with the necklace had truly been due to her spellcasting. "It was a problem with my casting."

As far as she was concerned, it was the most likely option that her spell had been weaker than expected, as she had little experience with the Imperius curse and the accident had occurred after her spell, not Draco's. Still, she was more prepared to take whatever punishment awaited her for this transgression. After all, she had been primed for it. Somewhere in the back of her head, a small voice tried to argue that she had taken the blame because her conscience was finally taking a stand, but she shoved it away.

"I swore to protect you," Snape grimaced, discontent for her clear in his eyes. "I made the unbreakable vow."

 _Narcissa_. Ophelia thought wearily, remembering the witch's promise of safety throughout the school year.

"We don't need protection." Draco's ego inflated to the size of an elephant, and Ophelia had to jump in to salvage the remains of the conversation.

She tried to assure their professor, but the raven-haired man was not taking the bait. "We won't fail him."

To her horror, he turned to her and fearing the worst, she frantically stowed away her innermost secrets. He entered her mind before she could properly defend herself, his mental touch similar to the Dark Lord's minus the sinister nature behind the intrusion. His search was more calculated and levelled, as if he had performed the act millions of times before and was in no rush to complete it. It was like a led weight was sitting on her head, and she realized that she had seriously underestimated how strong Snape's mental capacities were.

It only took him seconds to sort through what she wanted him to see and get to the memories she had not had the time to hide, including her successful attempt to shroud her true mind from Voldemort and her consequent failure with Draco. Instead of pausing on the thought, Snape moved to her memories of abuse and terror, filled with raw emotion. Sick of his nose poking holes where it did not belong, she blockaded him from entering any further and focused on his external energy inside of her skull, pushing it away as roughly as she could.

"Interesting," The Professor shot out of her head so quickly that Ophelia doubled over, vomit threatening to spill from her lips. "this is a rare skill."

Silence coated the room once more as he looked between the two children and repeated himself. "Allow me to assist you."

"We were chosen for this!" Draco spat, ignoring the way Ophelia was still hunched over in pain. She tried to diminish the nausea, but it would not leave her system. "Us, not you."

As if he could sense the fear that reeked from the both of them, Severus dismissed them with a doubtful smirk and a tight swat of his hand. "Do not allow pride to blind you. I will be watching."

They made it twenty feet from the classroom before Ophelia puked into a nearby alcove. Stomach acid tore her throat and ripped apart her windpipe, lashing away at the vocal chords there. She managed to vanish the sticky mess and conjured some water to clear her mouth, but she could not shake the sense of doom that sat in her intestines like a pile of lead. It made her dry heave once more, tears pricking and stinging her eyes due to the pressure. All she could taste was her own rancid breath, and all she could hear was the ridiculous incantation she had been uttering since the second week of school. Whatever Snape knew could be used against her; she was losing the stronghold she had constructed herself, and she was losing it fast.

Terrified and powerless, she ripped herself from her spot off of the wall and made a mad dash for the astronomy tower, the need for fresh hair insatiable. Draco's confused cries fell upon deaf ears as she doubled up the stairs, ignoring the way her lungs screamed for air and the acidity in her muscles as she willed them to work harder.

None of her life had been fair; none of it had been her choice. Yet, under the threat of death and torture she had been made to do things for others, and she'd never had what it took to rebel. In the end, she was a coward.

There had always been an option to fight back, and while many would have likely concluded that her priority for survival was in the right place, she was allowing much evil to occur without lifting even a finger against it. She had no heart of gold; no outstanding bravery that would have given her what she needed to stand up for what was right. As Ophelia climbed the final steps to the top of the tower, she wondered if there was any honor in such a position.

She eyed the distance from the balcony of the astronomy tower to the ground. Pale, thin fingers gripped the railing so tightly that her knuckles turned white from the effort. Had she done something in her past life to deserve all of this? Ending her own life would only cause more suffering. If she survived, she had a chance of giving back and making up for the atrocities not only she, but the rest of her bloodline had been responsible for.

 _Repentance._

"What were you planning on doing, exactly?" Draco finally caught up to her and came to stand beside her, slightly out of breath.

 _Repentance._

She couldn't answer, but he was not completely daft. Suicide was a frequent thought in her head, and she would have been surprised if he had not dabbled in the subject once or twice. When she wouldn't respond he did not press the issue and stayed rooted to his spot, looking out across the blizzard that ravaged the grounds of Hogwarts.

 _Repentance._


	6. atque dolitura

**atque dolitura**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of Harry Potter or it's associated characters. I only own my OC, Ophelia, and her deceased mother.**

 **A/N: I'm going to slap a massive TW on this chapter, because there is curse-induced self harm.**

Fate continued to prove that it was not on her side.

As soon as they had stepped into the town car waiting for them at King's Cross Station, the driver informed them that he was under strict order to transport them both to Malfoy manor. It was a silent ride to Wiltshire, ridden with dread and anxiety. Ophelia had received no letters from her father since the beginning of school and was flying into the current situation rather blind. There was no way of knowing whether Severus had reported his findings to Cyrus, nor if her Dark Lord had gotten any word of the incident involving Katie Bell. If there was any time to be stricken with panic, it was now. She had no idea what she was walking into.

When the car arrived at the manor, house elves immediately appeared to take the students' luggage. In the dim dusk lighting one or two people could be made out awaiting them at the door, though she wasn't able to identify them until she and Draco stepped out of the vehicle.

It was her father and Narcissa, the latter of the two unable to contain herself. She stepped forward and embraced her son, who folded into her arms and clung to her as if she was the last living being on the face of the earth. Ophelia eyed their interaction curiously for no longer than three seconds before going to take her place near Cyrus. She was not surprised when he grabbed for her arm, forcing her to drop her bag as he towed her away, but she had not expected his next words.

"You have been extraordinarily disappointing thus far," He sneered, pushing her further into the house and away from the Malfoys. "such pitiful attempts are grounds for severe punishment."

In a sudden acknowledgement, she realized how much danger she was in. Severus had spilled, which meant Voldemort knew of their mistakes and thwarted attempts. It also meant that her head of house was tangled in the same web she'd been born into. The residing members of the house were clearly not thrilled about what had gone on at the castle for the past four months, despite whatever small progress had been made with the vanishing cabinet. Time was running out, and Ophelia's head was on the chopping block. _His_ chopping block.

"Ah – the youngling." The voice sent shivers down her spine.

She'd had nightmares of his face, the few times she had slept without Dreamless sleep. Red eyes bore into hers and nailed her to her spot, where she curtseyed slightly and waited to be addressed. It was unsettling to recognize the way her father had groomed her for such a life.

Across the barren living room, her Dark Lord beckoned her closer. Obeying, she tried to quiet the noises her heels made against the wooden floor, but the silence was too deafening and the clicks echoed ominously. When she reached an appropriate distance she stopped, mind already working furiously to disguise what it needed to hide. She averted her eyes from his gaze respectfully, silently thanking Merlin when he did not grow irate.

"Severus tells me you have spoiled a recent attempt," He began, speaking in the slippery tones Ophelia had not missed whatsoever during her stay at Hogwarts. "Is this true?"

Here, she had the chance to lie and blame everything on Draco. To come clean and admit that he was the one who had bought the necklace from Borgin and Burkes; he who had the idea to curse Katie Bell in the first place. But a glance at her father struck a chord inside her. She was able to bear the burden of punishment and had been taught to expect serious retribution for her wrongdoings; Draco had not.

 _By all that is holy, what's grabbed a hold of you? Sympathy? Empathy? Pity? For your own sake, I hope not._

Ophelia made her choice, praying to a God that did not exist to save her from such a cursed life.

As much as she willed her voice not to tremble, the terror made it impossible. "Yes, my Lord."

"Pity," He tutted malevolently, gliding closer to her until he was a breath away.

The silence was unbearable. The monster in front of her did not breathe, only peering at her through red lenses coated in madness. She held onto her hidden secrets as strongly as she could, but the intrusion did not come as expected.

"Allow me to demonstrate a proper Imperius curse."

It was a fitting punishment for her alleged blunder.

The magic settled in her bones as if it was always meant to be there. A trance of calmness washed over her, sliding its way through her veins and resting her heart rate. Her anxiety and fears were turned down to a minimum and as a consequence the hold on her thoughts slipped. Any and all remaining worries were swept away, the silence in her head causing a sort of mesmerized happiness. Somewhere in her head, her consciousness screamed bloody murder, trying to break free from the iron bonds it was locked in. She ignored it in favour of listening to the command that had been uttered to her.

"One hundred and twenty-one incisions, for the number of days you have wasted."

Listening was easy. It was as if someone had asked her to keep breathing – the order was so simple and logical that she had no problem following through with it. An obsidian knife was offered to her and she took it without qualm, beginning to slice at her flesh as if it was made of butter.

"Deeper, my dear. You have squandered precious time."

The dull pain did not hit her until she reached the crease of her elbow, where a vein was punctured. The fatty layer of her skin became visible with every laceration, soon disguised by fresh flowing layers of crimson. She had begun counting in her head, careful to avoid the dark mark on her journey to the number assigned. The incisions travelled up to her shoulder until she was forced to remove her dress and stockings, tearing at the fabric as if it was nothing but tissue paper. Left in her knickers she continued to slash at her pale skin, making a trail down her chest and stomach. The gashes grew deeper as they trailed down her left leg and though the pain had turned into a cumbersome stinging, it still did not pull Ophelia from the spell.

It was beautifully silent in her head, more peaceful than Occlumency had ever allowed it to be.

Kicking off her shoes, she proceeded down one foot and made her way up the next, nicking another vein in her right ankle. It was then that she acknowledged the blood that had begun dripping onto the floor, only perplexing her in the slightest as she questioned for the first time why on earth she was doing such a thing. Another tidal wave of tranquility knocked the sense back out of her.

By the time she reached her right shoulder she still had a ways to go to reach her destination, sparking her to kick into a higher gear and begin cutting faster. Her cleaves were less coordinated and the choppy motions led to the opening of three more veins, all issuing out throbs of blood consistent with the slow beating of her heart. In what was an entirely bizarre moment, she realized that the sight of her own blood coating her fingertips did not perturb her. It was satisfying, in all actuality, to know that she was carrying out what she had been asked to do.

To make up for the remaining number of gashes, she blindly hacked at her shoulders and upper back before filling in any leftover spaces on her stomach and sides. Any smooth skin she felt at the back of her legs was also sliced in two, joining the mess of wounds on her body. As soon as she had reached one hundred and twenty-one, she felt whatever beautiful force that had been pressing down on her consciousness abandon her.

The pain was not heavy, but there was much of it. What was more insufferable was the way her emotions and thoughts came rushing back to her, crowding her brain and reducing her focus.

Stumbling forwards, Ophelia caught herself on her hands and knees. The lightheadedness only lasted a minute or two, but through it all she could feel the burning sensation of her open wounds pressed against the floor of the manor. She dared not look up at her Lord, who had kneeled before her and raised his wand yet again.

"Crucio."

A familiar searing pain resonated deep inside of her, spreading from her chest to her very fingertips. Her father's casting was similar and though she had been exposed to it before, she could not help the scream of anguish that tore from her throat. Every single nerve ending was lit on fire, causing her to unknowingly flop to the ground like a fish out of water. If felt like all of her tissues and muscles were being boiled. It felt like someone had replaced her blood with acid. It felt like she was being put through a grinder, bones cracking and snapping like twigs under the pressure the curse was causing. Everything turned into an agonizing ache as she spasmed, losing her vision when she was unable to keep her eyes open any longer.

She could not form a coherent thought for the life of her. Begs for mercy were impossible to utter; cries for help did not make it past her lips. For what felt like hours she writhed and screeched in pain, wishing for death to put an end to her torment.

When her master had decided she had learned her lesson, he ceased his assault. The convulsions did not stop immediately, nor did the horrible pain that came along with the unforgivable act of magic. She lay on her stomach panting furiously, trying to quell the nausea pooling in her stomach.

Approaching the half-conscious student, the dark wizard rolled Ophelia onto her back with a kick and looked over her in mild distaste. "Quite a resilient little thing you've bred, Cyrus."

Gently turning her head through the throes of soreness, Ophelia was able to look at her father. There, in his eyes, she was reminded that any true remaining family she had left was virtually non-existent. There was no concern, no sense of caring to be found in the man that stood mere meters from her. He was the same shell he had always been, built to serve a higher power. Every fraction of his existence was donated to the Dark Lord, including the child he had raised. He was not family by any means of the word aside from the genetics they shared.

Still, he was the closest thing to a father she had, and he had done his best to prepare her for such a life.

Despite the way her stomach wept in pain as she did so, viscous vomit flooded the floor to the right of where she lay. In her peripherals she saw the long ebony robes that signaled the retreat of the Dark Lord, slowly erasing him from the picture until all that was left was an inexplicable sense of petrification that was proof he had ever been present.

Cyrus then approached her. Not bothering to vanish her mess, he stood by her head and observed her for a good moment, pupils blown so wide that they completely coated his irises.

"You will not disappoint me again."

He wasted no time raising one pristine leather-clad food and dropping it on her face. A dull grunt was all she managed to let out on impact, but she could taste copper and smell the scent of her own blood. Still, she was unwavering in her opinion that she was being put through such horrors because it was she who could handle them, and did not offer Cyrus any other noises of weakness.

As if the fates had heard her resolve and wanted to test it, her father raised his wand and the wordless curse hit her square in the stomach. It forced yet another anguished grunt to escape from her lips as liquid pain doused her and made her spine arch so harshly she was afraid it would snap in two. Every fibre was once more lit aflame, leaving her breathless when he relented and stalked away without another word.

She recognized the lull of unconsciousness pulling her under, and submitted as if going to greet an old friend.

Her body was swaying gently, and she could sense warmth but was not able to identify from where it was coming from. Significant pressure on the back of her knees and below her shoulder blades confused her even further and made her stir, awakening deep thrums of pain that had not been present during her dormancy. Unaware of how much time had passed by or where she was, Ophelia tried to raise her head in vain only to feel her neck give out and her forehead hit a firm surface. The black depths took her again, catching her gently in their soft embrace.

When she woke, she was no longer in the grand dining room of Malfoy manor. Instead she found herself in a four-poster bed, covered in some sort of a sticky substance. Eyeing the tapestries that were visible on the walls around her, she blearily tried to make sense of where she was. Daylight decorated the green room, which upon first guess looked like a guest's quarters. It only took seconds for the soreness to set in, and she hissed at its intensity before trying to push herself onto her elbows to survey the damage. Her body complained and began to rebel against her, forcing her to halt and take heavy breaths.

 _Up, come on._ She urged herself to rise, nearly howling with misery when she achieved the desired position.

A strange clear jelly had been slathered over her wounds and she had been made to lie on a starchy white sheet that looked like it belonged at a ward in St. Mungo's more than anywhere else. Her lesions were nowhere near as bloody as they had been when she had made them, but her flesh was still torn open, many wounds wider and deeper than she had expected. The fact that they had not yet been closed meant the knife had likely been coated with some ghastly dark magic.

On her bedside table was her wand, a glass of water, two pieces of toast and some folded garments, presumably given to her because she was still in her knickers and her clothing had been ripped to shreds. A quick sweep of the room, despite the ache it caused her neck, revealed a large bedroom complete with an adjacent bathroom and large bay windows.

A bath. She needed a bath. _Get up._

Every motion made her bones weep in pain, but she managed to sit up and was surprised to find her face wet with tears she did know she had shed. She ignored them in favor of pushing herself towards the edge of the bed, grimacing at the way her open lacerations screamed for her to stop. Reaching for her wand caused her skin to stretch and the cuts on her sides nearly stopped her from going the extra inch, but she was all too motivated to get to the eight-inch piece of Yew.

Grabbing it allowed her to turn the faucet on in the bathroom, set to room temperature water. She had little experience with such extensive magical injuries, but she knew enough not to plunge herself into a hot bath with such wounds. Death by drowning was not particularly high on her list of preferable ways to die.

Slowly, she made to stand and had to sit back down after a few seconds with a defeated groan when her legs nearly gave out from underneath her. Such weakness caused mortification to pile up inside of her, especially since she had been built to withstand such torture. It brought more angry tears to her eyes that she fruitfully wiped away before trying again, this time pushing through the discomfort and instability until she could grab a hold of one of the bed's banisters. Using it as a temporary crutch, she limped from object to object and overpassed every nasty stab of agony that jolted through her until she reached the bathroom.

Leaning against the countertop, she caught her breath and slowly looked for her appearance in the mirror. What she saw was familiar, but incredibly distorted. She had not bothered to look at herself for the past four months, but after catching the gauntness in her cheeks and the ribs that had begun to poke out of her chest, it was a miracle that she had not seen herself sooner. What little extra weight she had left had melted off, lost to the stress of months under immense amounts of pressure. Her wrists looked as though the wind could snap them in half, while her fingers resembled spider's legs rather than human extremities. What had used to be a small gap between her thighs had widened dramatically, and her hipbones jutted out awkwardly from where they held up her lingerie.

With a shaky breath, her gaze moved up to her face. Her father's shoe had left a small tear in her lip and her left eye had suffered a burst vessel, likely from the excruciating force of the Cruciatus curse. Upon closer inspection she could see that a bruise would likely form, but she was not curious enough to prod at it. Dejectedly, her eyes came to rest on the orbs of brown surrounded by dark bags, where some last remnants of light still twitched behind them. This did not look like the unbreakable witch that had left for Hogwarts four months ago, nor the one she had known her whole life.

 _But you're still here, aren't you? You're still you._

She did not last long enough to review the slits she had made into her own anatomy. After seeing a particularly deep gash on her right leg, her stomach gave way and she unleashed whatever stomach bile she had left into the porcelain sink.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?"

Lovely. Of all people to see her in such a state, Draco Malfoy had to be the one. Ophelia would have even taken Narcissa Malfoy instead of her son at this point, and that was truly saying something. Ophelia wasn't sure what Draco was doing in the guest quarter's anyhow, let alone the fact that he had intruded on her when she was half naked.

"Awhile ago, actually." She rasped, not shocked by the hoarseness of her voice nor how the words stung her throat on their way out.

He paused in the doorway of the bathroom, astonishment clear on his face. "You weren't supposed to leave the bed. How have you…do you even remember what's happened to you?"

"I'm well aware, thank you," She spat harshly and turned to wave her wand at the faucet, watching as it obeyed and the water shut off entirely. "please, leave me -"

A terrible cough cut her off mid-sentence, and she was taken aback by the severity of the hacking. Her lungs complained each time they vibrated with her involuntary actions and she leaned on the sink for leverage. It took a few seconds but the symptom passed, leaving them in a weird silence. To help clear it, she spat out a mouthful of blood that had collected in her mouth overnight into the sink and rinsed the mess away. Surprisingly enough, this did not deter Draco and he remained still, watching her cautiously. But there was something else hiding in those grey eyes; curiosity – she could have spotted it from a mile away.

Perhaps he was wondering why she had been tortured, or why she had taken the blame for their incident in the first place. It was also very possible he was just ogling her, though she was not the same piece of eye candy she'd been at the beginning of the school semester. Either way, it was obvious he was not satisfied with her responses and was not going to leave any time soon. She had unfortunately piqued his interest, as it was unlikely he was staying purely out of concern for her well-being.

Pretending he didn't exist while she undressed to bathe was easy; she had little shame of her body and did not care for his opinion. She ripped off her bralette, thin straps giving easily despite the trembling of her fingers, and her underwear slid off with the slightest push. What was hard to do in front of him was limp her way to the bath; she hated showing others any type of shortcoming or frailty, and even having her wand did not help her shattered confidence.

Unable to help herself, she let out an involuntary hiss when she put weight on the leg that held a larger count of burst veins.

It was then that Draco moved forward, sparking her to quickly raise her want and grunt in discomfort. He raised his hands in return, trying to show her he meant no harm. Still she did not relent and merely inched closer to the tub, making it to the edge where she grasped onto a nearby wall for support and almost double over.

"I'm trying to help you," He growled, clearly insulted.

"I didn't ask for help! I don't need -" Ophelia cried, spontaneously erupting into another coughing fit that shook her body like a leaf and cut her comeback short. Why on Earth was he helping? She had never heard of a Malfoy ever willingly assisting anyone, especially a woman.

 _Arrogant, sexist, idiotic…_

She hated this. She hated the way her pride stung with every breath. She hated the way he didn't listen and continued to reach for her until his hands made contact with her back, careful not to upset the nearby wounds. She hated the way her body defied her brain and went to clasp his forearm when she stumbled. She hated that the only thing she was wearing at the moment was her engagement ring.

She had always been independent; strong, self-sustainable. With her will of steel, she never needed help, pity, empathy, or any of the other emotions that most of her generation required. Yet, nothing changed the fact that at the current moment, she was out of carrots and sticks. There was no denying that it would be easier to get into the floor-mounted bathtub with an extra set of hands. Moreover, she did not have the mental energy to question exactly why Draco was trying to help her at all.

The first step into the water was alright, but the deeper she went the more her abrasions complained. At one point she dug her nails into her fiancée's arm so deeply due to the pain that she feared drawing blood, despite her brain letting her know that she should not have cared. Whether or not Draco came into harm's way only concerned her if it was lethal, so why was she relenting her grasp?

He didn't speak as she used him to lower her full body into the giant tub, releasing his hand once she was standing in the chest-high water. In one quick motion she dunked herself, wetting the rest of her head in the tepid bath and saving her rapid breaths of anguish for when she surfaced. Her thighs shook with the energy it had taken to complete such a task, forcing her to sit back into the curved seats the jacuzzi-like tub offered and try to regain some of her stamina back. Her eyes slid closed and she prayed for any vitality she could get, leaning her head back against the floor as she did so.

"You're not going to collapse, are you?" His question interrupted her process, but she did not have the vivacity to snap at him.

Instead, she gave a lazy shake of her head which she supposed was not very reassuring. She did not hear him stir, so she assumed he was not convinced of her answer and released a long sigh in response. Either way, she was correct in her assumption that he would not stick around for very long to question her any further. Quiet footsteps signalled his retreat from the bathroom, but the door remained wide open. Huffing, Ophelia wordlessly waved her wand and watched it shut with a soft click, taking it as her queue to begin bathing.

For two hours she sat and slowly scrubbed at her skin, disinfecting what she could and unable to take her mind off of the pain that prevented her from moving any faster. The water ran red with her blood, lightly lapping at the sides of the tub when she made a movement to treat her back. Refusing to break her silence, she grit her teeth as she moved over a particularly nasty cut on her shoulder and let out a deep exhale to settle the nausea. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she raised herself out of the tub and cast a drying spell on her raw, burning skin.

The bath had definitely allowed her skin to loosen up, making movement easier, but the throbbing of her injuries did not let up.

Making it as far as the bedside table, Ophelia grabbed the silk robe that had been folded and donned it as quickly as possible, thanking the Heavens for Narcissa's quality taste as the soft material slid across her injuries like they didn't exist. The chilly, morning air nipped at her bare skin and prompted her to wave her wand yet again towards the fireplace several meters away. Trembling fingers reached for the glass of water sitting in front of her and grabbed a piece of toast before making her way to one of the armchairs, where she was forced to levitate the food until she had situated herself.

Living this kind of ill-equipped life, where one was handicapped and incapable of performing easy tasks, was her ultimate nightmare.

Determined to recover as quickly as possible, she made her way through the rest of the poor excuse of a meal and warmed herself in front of the fire before deciding she'd had enough of the relaxation. Sitting wasn't going to do her any good; she yearned for mental stimulation to keep her brain in check, and her limbs needed use. Unwilling to seek out any of the other occupants of the house, she took her time exploring the attached rooms of her suite and stumbled upon a grand piano, causing her to pause for a brief moment and pondered whether her location in the house had been a mere coincidence or whether someone had placed her with the instrument in mind. The third option was that the Malfoys kept grand pianos in all of their guest suites, which, after brief consideration, Ophelia gathered was not entirely unlikely.

Making her way over to the large ivory keyboard, she sat with a small hiss and set her wand down before gently running her hands over the eighty-eight keys.

It was easy to decide what to play. No thought was required as her foot pressed the shining pedal and her fingers connected with the correct keys, allowing the music to drown out all other distractions at the moment. The prelude was not the happiest tune, but she felt it was an appropriate selection and did not bother to second guess her choice as the sad song progressed. With each chord she grew more and more distracted from the pain thrumming through her body, eventually letting her eyes slide shut to give her brain some rest. The lack of stimulation prompted Occlumency to glide across her mind, wiping out any voices that screamed for her to go find a house elf and call for her belongings so that she could travel back home. Some peace of mind away from her father would do her some good, though she yearned to get back to Lando and the safe confines of her room.

Chopin's E Minor faded out into a much happier Waltz in G Minor by Mozart, but after the two-minute line passed she switched to Beethoven's Fur Elise. Keeping up a lively tune wasn't worth it if no one needed cheering up, and she was perfectly content to sit with her sadness. Extending the piece for all that it was worth, Ophelia didn't notice that a visitor had planted themselves in the armchair across the parlour, silently watching her as her delicate hands danced across the keyboard and her bare foot continued to mould itself to the polished metal.

She let the coils of concentration slip, casting them into the depths of her mind along with the millions of pounds of mental storage that had already cascaded down. Her head, perched atop her neverendingly straight spine, felt like a well of information so vast that even she had forgotten about some of the horrors that lurked in its depths. Somewhere else, brewing deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt something dark begin to stir. There was a blackness that had been growing since September, pushing its way to her lungs where it constricted her breaths and made her head swim dangerously. Regular, uninterrupted sleep became impossible without the use of potions, concentration was thrown out the window, and time mocked her as it slipped through her grasp. She was rotting from the inside out.

Hit with a bout of exhaustion her playing suddenly ceased and her hands slipped off the keyboard, falling to her sides where they sat uselessly. She slumped, no longer having the energy to maintain proper posture.

 _Oh, if only mother dearest could see you now…_

Furious with her own mind for bringing up a thought so offensive and futile, Ophelia felt the hot rush of rage sweep over her muscles to give her energy once more. Blinded by anger she quickly righted herself and resumed her playing, this time starting with the third movement of Chopin's Moonlight Sonata. It was the roughest piece she knew, fast and tempestuous. Unsure of who was within earshot Ophelia made sure to avoid all mistakes possible, but did not hold back on the force with which she pounded on the keys. It was her way of communicating, but it was rarely therapeutic on her part and even less so when the pieces she was playing were as agitated as the current one. Still, it was a good distraction – and if she was playing, it meant she did not have to be talking.

Seven minutes worth of music flew by at an astounding pace, but the young witch did not break in her resolve as she pummeled the piano for all that it was worth, hurtling towards the end of the sonata. In the final chords she supposed she could have been a bit lighter on the keys, considering the grand piano looked like it had been sitting unused for quite some time, but she did not regret the way the sound hung in the air for a good ten seconds after she was finished.

She sensed another presence in the room before she heard movement. As she allowed thoughts, memories and feelings to resurface in the proper corners of her mind it became more apparent to Ophelia that she was being watched. It didn't take many guesses to land on exactly who; she could feel the grey irises burning a hole into her back.

"It's rude to stare." She wished her voice held up to the boldness she had wanted to emit, but such was not the case.

Draco said nothing, but she heard the rustle of material as he rose and took slow steps towards her until he was standing to the left of her bench. Reminded of how much he had grown since they had both been in diapers, Ophelia refrained from craning her neck to meet his eyes and instead focused on a small glass object he held in his hand.

"For the pain," He clarified, holding out the tiny vial. It was then that she looked for the familiar pools of grey, unafraid of what she might find there. In the place of indifference, she found concern hidden in his gaze, making a feeble attempt to disguise itself within his stony visage.

Their two left hands connected as she went to grasp the potion, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. Ophelia found her gaze redirecting itself to their twin rings, feeling just as naked under his stare as she had been a mere two hours ago. What had caused this sudden change in behavior? Not once had she heard of a Malfoy acting out of pure good will; there was always an exchange of goods.

"Thank you." She murmured in return, downing the vial in one smooth go. The ache in her bones had returned.

She accepted the hand he offered her and rose from the piano bench, moving towards the fireplace to tend to its slowly dying embers. It only took a moment before it was roaring again and Ophelia settled herself on one of the large armchairs, paying apt attention to the snowfall. Her fiancée settled on a settee across from her, leaning forward as to appreciate the warmth the fire gave off.

"You play beautifully."

To say she was gobsmacked by the compliment would have been the understatement of the century. At first, she wondered if saying nothing at all was better than the shocked silence she was responding with, but she ended up stuttering a decent word of thanks upon realizing that it would have come off as rather rude.

 _Manners? Of all things, manners are now suddenly important to you?_

"Has my father sent for me?" Wondering aloud had never been an issue for her, but it was a burning question and she was desperate to shut her own head up.

Her fiancée frowned and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. It was the second time that Ophelia fully acknowledged his stature. "No."

How helpful.

The roaring fire distracted them both as one of the logs crackled and broke under the pressure of the others, spewing tiny pieces of flame when it collapsed. She let the silence absorb the air around them, finding that it was actually quite comfortable. Awkwardness came easy to her when she was around people she didn't like, but the blonde had become easy enough to tolerate and had not crossed any boundaries as of late. In the place of discomfort, she felt neutrality, and that was to be considered an improvement.

"Why did you take the punishment?" It seemed like the demand had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for awhile, because when it was uttered Draco did not hesitate to look up at her expectantly.

Exhaling through her nostrils, Ophelia tried to come up with a decent reply and found herself unable to hold his gaze. She was expecting some sort of ample curiosity on his part after what had occurred, but was unsure if she wanted to divulge the confusing reason behind her choice. Even she did not fully understand it. So, she opted for the most vague and simple answer possible.

"Because I could."

If he was unsatisfied, he hid it well, because he did not respond.

However, after a week's time and her return to Selwyn Manor, Lando delivered a package and a very brief letter with an insignia that caught her eye immediately. Ignoring the two house elves that she had been watching decorate the twenty five foot Christmas tree, Ophelia took the suspiciously heavy gift to one of the lounging areas and poured herself a drink. She tore open the letter first, examining the messy cursive scrawl that she had only seen once before.

 _Merry Christmas_

 _\- Draco_

Eyebrows pulling together in curiosity, she opened the rest of the package only to find three bottles of Dreamless sleep potion nestled in a box.


End file.
